


A Child Among the Ranks

by begrudginglyso



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Choking, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Existential Horror, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gen, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Mutilation, Physical Abuse, Pidge | Katie Holt Whump, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, tbt as the story continues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23545171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/begrudginglyso/pseuds/begrudginglyso
Summary: Let's go back to season 5: Zarkon offers Sam Holt in exchange for Lotor, and Pidge manages to twist Shiro's arm into going along with the obvious trap.Well, let's pretend Shiro had been firmer with her, and in a desperate attempt to save her father, Pidge goes along with the hostage exchange herself.Naturally, things go horribly wrong.EDIT: This fic was originally posted back in April, but I'm revamping this baby to clear up all the grammar errors, wording flukes, and just make sure the notes better reflect my story intent. There's sure to be little edits all over the place, but nothing that completely derails the story. I'm just a perfectionist that's never satisfied.
Relationships: Acxa & Pidge | Katie Holt, Ezor & Pidge | Katie Holt & Zethrid, Ezor & Zethrid (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt & Zarkon, Pidge | Katie Holt & Zethrid
Comments: 18
Kudos: 54





	1. things go wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a desperate attempt to save her father, Pidge decides to meet Zarkon for the prisoner-exchange herself. She only realizes just how bad of an idea this was once it's too late, though.

Her gut was telling her to fly away and never look back, but by this point, her tunnel-vision had numbed the dread-induced nausea that had her stomach roiling earlier. Now, it was more like an uneasy pressure flaring from somewhere between her small intestines and kidneys. 

She had already made one bad decision, like running away again. Then another, like kidnapping Lotor. And then another, like bargaining with Zarkon. 

But it would all be worth it in the end—when she had her dad again.

The others would be mad at her, but only for a little while. Matt wanted their dad back just as much as she did. And so did Shiro. Lance never liked Lotor, and there was no way Hunk’s creep alarm wasn’t ringing the tick Lotor was within a one mile radius. Allura would probably be mad. Coran, too, by virtue of his royal allegiances.

But they’d all come around.

Her dad was a genius! There was a reason the Empire kept him alive. Although, even without this whole hostage-exchange-ordeal, Pidge would still believe this—unable to accept any reality where she might not reunite with her family. But she focused more on how he could help the coalition. And how they wouldn’t have to worry about any double-crossing, or sitting through any more self-serving monologues about a Galran-Altean utopia where Lotor just so happened to be emperor.

Yeah, she was doing the right thing.

That's what Pidge kept telling herself as she wrung her hands together. The planet Zarkon picked for hostage exchange was like a giant quarry. Her suit protected her from the arid atmosphere, but she still felt a distinct warmth radiate down her back. This quarry planet could only be sixty million light years from the nearest sun. 

She could be sitting inside the air-conditioned shuttle; however, that meant listening to Lotor lecture her through the divider again. She had pumped him full of all sorts of Altean anesthetics (Space drugs, she liked to call them), but by the time she landed, they had worn off. She came early, too, which meant Lotor got at least five dobashes to try and weasel his way out of his fate.

"You're a foolish child," he had said.

"Zarkon was already going to betray you, but when he sees a petulant brat such as yourself has taken this mission upon her arrogant shoulders, he's sure to kill us both," he had spat.

Pidge had just hopped out of the shuttle, spinning around to make a face at the cargo-hold of the shuttle. There was no way Lotor saw her, but Pidge still felt like she made her point. There was a moment of grumbling (Mostly about how Lotor was the foolish, and petulant, and arrogant one), and then she looked to the skies—waiting for the ship that carried her dad. 

She had convinced herself coming early was for an intimidation factor. If she got the lay of the land first, then Zarkon couldn’t spring any traps on her. As long as she's been grasping at straws, anything made sense. She just wanted her dad back, and despite all odds, she was this close to making that dream come true.

If Iverson were here, Pidge would tell him to eat it.

The thought created a little bubble of confidence in Pidge's chest. It numbed the tremendous amount of anxiety coursing through her limbs, to think about all the people she could tell off. Iverson, the rest of Garrison, everybody who's ever called her short, Allura-- Won't they be sorry for getting in her way! 

Just then, Zarkon's shuttle breached the atmosphere, and Pidge's self-gloating died.

It wasn't a cruiser—like they agreed, just shuttles—but it was still a big ship. Like everything else Galra, it was made up of sharp edges and purple lights. As it landed—like they agreed, a quarter-of-a-cruiser's distance away—Pidge felt her gut drop from the sheer foreboding power of knowing that, that ship carried the emperor of the known universe.

The exchange was really going to happen, now. She had actually come here. Alone. And now she was actually going to deal with Zarkon. Alone.

All her regrets came spewing like the worst kind of vomit, setting off alarm bells deep within her psyche that warned of gruesome death. But it was too late to turn back—Zarkon was already here. 

Pidge shoved those regrets down and forced on a brave face. She just needed to trade Lotor for her dad, then he could help her out of this mess (Like that time she got glue in her hair). Shiro would probably ground her until the end of time for negotiating with a tyrant, but that was fine by her, since that meant there'd be a happy ending to all this—one where everyone was safe. 

The ramp of Zarkon's ship came down with a loud whirring sound. Pidge took slow, steady breaths as she rounded towards the back of her shuttle. She summoned her bayard before opening the cargo hold, thinking she'd have to fight Lotor out of there. 

But he was already standing at attention, arms still restrained by Altean handcuffs. With a pointedly stoic air, Lotor walked himself out of the cargo hold, and led himself towards the front-end of the shuttle. Pidge eyed him suspiciously as she followed after him, expecting Lotor to do.. something. 

If not fight her, then get in one last insult. Lotor simply stared ahead blankly, apparently already submitted to his fate. His voice was passive as he droned, "I hope Zarkon grants us both speedy deaths."

Pidge felt her fear morph into anger at that.

She wanted to let him know that, no, he should hope Zarkon grants him a speedy death. She, on the other hand, was getting out of this with one less enemy to worry about. But the venomous words never take form, because the doors to Zarkon's ship finally opened.

Now, Pidge had seen Zarkon in person; at least, before he donned his new, full-body armor. However, that was always from the safety of her lion. She knew he was massive and intimidating, but it was a different kind of massive and intimidating outside her lion. 

At this distance, he couldn't really do anything to her personally. But it was kinda like being around a lion, or better yet, a tiger (A little less analogous to her whole paladin deal). Just because you're outside mauling-range doesn't mean you want to be hanging around a tiger.

Zarkon's voice boomed across the divide, "Bring me Lotor!"

Pidge tried to emulate his projection as she shouted back, "Show me my father first!"

Zarkon seemed to glare at her before moving to his right. Behind him was her dad, held back by one of Lotor's old generals. Pidge doesn’t bother remembering which one, as her heart swelled with a rush of joy. That was her dad! He was beaten-down, worn-out, and half-alive. But that was her dad.

She had to resist the urge to run to him; instead, she shoved Lotor in the small of his back to urge him forward. Lotor began his march towards death, and her dad began his march towards freedom. The closer her dad got, the more elation replaced all the regret and fear that still resonated in her bones. Pidge was actually pacing in place—all the more desperate to embrace her dad. She felt the suspense fraying away at her very being. Once Lotor passed him, and she could almost make out the wrinkles on his face, Pidge couldn't contain herself any longer.

"Dad!" She bolted forward. Pidge hoped to jump into his arms, but there was nothing for her to hold onto. She passed straight through him, revealing him to be nothing more than a holo-projection as he burst into a thousand million pixels. 

For a tick, Pidge was just shocked. Zarkon’s betrayal was evident; however, it takes a moment for her brain to process it. She thought she finally had her dad back, but all she got was a belly-flop into the dirt. She had heard all the horror stories, and even seen some of them herself, but in that moment, Pidge realized Zarkon was pure evil. Not just some bad guy, or an unjust dictator. He was viciously and unnecessarily evil.

As Pidge picked herself up, and pivoted around to face Zarkon, the rage settled in every iota of her body. They already had Lotor—held back by the giant general. More importantly, they still had her dad—held back by whoever the pink one was.

Again, in his booming voice, Zarkon called across the divide, “Bring me the lions if you wish to see the prisoner alive!”

Pidge charged. Actually, she didn't just charge, she flew. She activated her jet-pack just to close the distance between herself and Zarkon that much quicker. It was an act worthy of the Red lion's favor, but also the grizzliest of deaths. Pidge’s rage was enough to override her typical reserves, and send her straight over the metaphorical edge and into a pit of harebrained gumption.

They had a deal—Lotor for her dad. Zarkon couldn't just dangle him in front of her for the lions!

In her heart of hearts, Pidge hoped to strike Zarkon right in the face. She'd stun them all and whisk her dad away, never to return to this awful place. She had her bayard out and ready; she was building up the momentum. But it all went straight to her face as Zarkon simply stepped to the side, leaving her to crash right into the floor of his ship.

Humiliation blended together with rage into a milkshake of hard-to-swallow failure that stuck right in her throat. Pidge practically growled as she spun around, her bayard crackling with electricity. But it never connected to anything. 

Zarkon was already looming over her, like a tiger that's caught its prey. For the way his armor clanked, and the thousands of years he's lived, Zarkon swiped her up by the arm with a keen sense of agility. He threw her against the wall to his left just as quickly. Pidge dropped her bayard upon impact, then fell to the ground with a thud. She was half-sure that Zarkon had dislocated her shoulder, and even more sure that he had concussed her. Everything went black for a tick.

“Ezor.” Zarkon rumbled from behind his mask.

“Yes?” A sing-song happy voice replied.

“Dispose of the prisoner. We no longer have any use for him.”

With a burst of adrenaline, Pidge pulled herself onto her feet. “No!”

In the name of saving her dad's life, she dived for her bayard. But again, with an eldritch type of speed, Zarkon clanked over to her, and hoisted her up by the collar. He spun around with enough velocity to make her sick, and threw her against the same wall with enough ferocity to split her skull. If not for her helmet, she'd probably die of brain hemorrhaging right now.

This time, Pidge peeled off the wall before flopping back down onto the floor with another, more sickening thud. Something was definitely broken—most likely her ribs. Her whole world swam this time, the edges of her vision going blurry as everything else failed to stay in one solid shape. 

It felt like her heart had moved from her chest to her ear, muting everything else as it thudded against her eardrum. Pidge heard someone call out her name in a sad kind of way, yelling, “Katie,” as if she just walked into oncoming traffic. The sound of a blaster going off followed it, and Pidge felt tears well up as that sound continued to echo in her head. She's already been oozing with tears from all the pain, but now they were coming out thick and plentiful. 

Why, exactly, didn't really click for her; however, Pidge knew there was a reason grief and shame roiled in her gut along with all her broken ribs. There was anger, too—specifically at the voices warbling overhead in the most incomprehensible ways.

Zarkon picked her up by the collar again, and Pidge was pliant in his grip. She didn't argue, plead, or barter—just bleat out a half-sob. With an air of total indifference, Zarkon dragged her towards the cockpit and shoved her into a chair. 

Pidge vaguely wondered if Zarkon wined and dined all of his murder victims before there was a click, and a new pressure clamped down on her wrists, legs, and chest.

Everything was strapped down except her head, which lolled from side to side. It was a pitiful sight that only Lotor really mourned, even as Zethrid clamped down onto his forearms with a brutal sense of force. Pidge would never know about this moment of sympathy from her now fellow-captive. 

She only heard Zarkon order the general at the controls. “Acxa, hail the Castle of Lions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll warn everyone now: this fanfic is my self-indulgent way to make Pidge interact with the Galra. If you're hoping for a big rescue plot, then this fic probably isn't for you. I just want to get that out in the open, since this chapter sets up a kind of rescue mission angle. If you like whump, messed up relationships, and/or protagonist-antagonist interactions, then this fic is definitely for you.


	2. things go horribly wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge is getting ransomed, now, and it seems like everthing is just getting worse and worse
> 
> Important note for this chapter: during the VLD comic run, it turned out Pidge actually kept fighting profiles on the team that detailed all their strengths and weaknesses.

The world came back in bits and pieces.

Her heart slowly settled back into her chest, thudding against her sternum rather than her eardrums. It was as slow as her breathing was shallow. Every time she dragged in another breath, her sides stung—making her head ache even more. Pidge could feel exactly where she had been slammed against the walls.

As the pain spread to her the whole of her brain and gut alike, everything started to take shape again. She could make out people and things, as well as all the little details that made them up.

One of Lotor’s old lady generals was at the controls. Acxa? That name had been said at some point. Pidge could only make out of the back of her head, and how it looked like she had elf ears and expensive barrettes. Acxa was navigating them through the layers of the quarry planet's atmosphere, meaning they had taken off. That was bad.

Pidge’s head lolled down and she saw her restraints. The straps across her wrists, legs, and chest looked translucent, making them seem projected, but they were as solid as steel. Just flexing her fingers made the straps pinch at her wrists. That was also bad.

Pidge thought about escape, but everything was slow. There were a million different things racing through her head—how much she was hurting, what was going on—yet nothing really connected.

It took a moment for Pidge to try to form words. She had to really focus and try to streamline all the disjointed memories and raw feelings into a thought that can be translated into actual speech.

>Hurting

>Because Zarkon caught her

>Because Zarkon tricked her

>Tricked her about prisoner exchange

>Lotor for her dad

>Her dad

>Her dad that she lost

>Can't see him

>Can't hear him.

>Blaster?

>Unrelated right now

>Her dad should be here

Pidge slowly picked up her head, and without talking to anyone in particular, asked, “Where’s my dad?”

Some less dazed part of her wished she had sounded more intimidating, as if she was commanding them to retrieve her dad for her. Even while being concussed, Pidge still heard the absolute timidity in her voice—like she was a little girl asking for daddy.

The pink lady general preyed on this weakness immediately. She popped up somewhere from Pidge’s left, leaning down so they were at eye-level. She clasped her hands together like she was a cherub; however, the glint in her eyes was downright demonic. 

“Awh, is the little kitten having memory problems already? Or is she just in denial?”

Pidge stared at her with a look of pure confusion, causing the pink general lady to tut. She sounded like she was a teacher scolding her dumbest student. Pidge hated it.

“What a shame! You were such a crybaby just getting thrown into a few walls, what’s gonna happen when you figure out what happened?”

There was a snort from somewhere behind them. “Just tell the brat, Ezor. We’ll have more than enough time to jerk her around later.”

Ezor stood up and made a face at the mystery person. “Come on, Zethrid! You gotta twist the knife while it’s still in.”

Fear shook Pidge from her stupor. A blast—she very clearly remembered a blaster going off. That meant someone got shot.

Pidge jerked around in her restraints, looking around for any sign of her father.

Past Ezor was this Zethrid person—the giant lady general. She was standing next to Lotor, who had been strung up along the storage rails by Galran manacles. He looked more dead than alive with his dead fish stare, but Pidge wasn’t worried about him.

To her right was Zarkon. Pidge did a double-take at the sight of him. Galran prisoner or not—no one really expected to have the emperor of the known universe standing right next to you. He simply stared ahead, unconcerned with her for the moment. Her guts still twisted under the menacing emanation of his presence. 

Pidge would have avoided the mere sight of him if she hadn't caught smears of something from the corner of her eye. At that, her heart seized. She squirmed even more, craning her neck as far as possible to try to get a full view of the mess towards the back-end of the ship.

There were reddish splotches everywhere, reminding her of a crime scene that. Her brain went into hyper-drive, trying to think of a dozen different explanations.

It could be an oil spill, or floor scruffs, or rust—anything! Katie’s heart wished for every mundane possibility in existence, but her brain replayed Zarkon’s indifferent, “Dispose of the prisoner,” and the “pew” of blaster fire. Despite her heart’s protests, her brain had already connected the dots.

Those reddish splotches were blood. Her dad’s blood. From when Ezor shot him, probably dumping his body on the quarry planet.

Which meant he was dead. Her dad was dead.

She remembered, briefly, how there had also been a scream. It must have been her dad, calling out her name with his last breath. Had he tried to tell her something? Like a waning or one last “I love you”? “ _Maybe_ ,” the worst part of her brain suggested, “ _he used that last breath to curse you for being so stupid_.” Pidge knew she was missing something, driving her to try to fill-in the blanks. 

As if that would change her dad being dead.

With wide eyes and a shaky breath, Pidge slowly turned back towards the front of the ship. She could already feel the ripple effect of her heart dropping into despair: everything started to go numb while also carrying this enormous weight that threatened to etch into her very soul. 

The rest of the universe fell away to those blood smears and the body rotting in deep space.

Ezor leaned down low as she cooed, “Did the little kitten figure it out?”

Pidge screamed. It was nothing intelligible—just a primal shriek of anger and hurt. The girl basically convulsed in her seat, thrashing like she was going to break through her restraints in any tick.

“I’m going to kill you all! I’ll leave vines sprouting through your skulls!” With words came tears. They dribbled at first, then came pouring out. Pidge had two little rivers running down her face as she swore bloody vengeance.

She had other graphic deaths in mind, and Ezor was ready to egg her on, but Zarkon’s voice cut through the commotion.

“Enough.” The timbre of his voice was as low as it was projected by his large frame. He didn't have to shout for attention.

Zarkon set a hand on the top of his captive's head, and for all her belligerence, Pidge went still. The tears continued to stream down, but she froze like a deer in headlights. Every ache in her body flared at his touch, reminding her that he could very well crush her head.

Pidge tried to breathe evenly, staring down at her lap in total terror. Paranoia made her wonder if he’d break her neck just to silence her.

Instead, Zarkon pried off her helmet. He was gentle while doing so, his armored claws only barely grazing the nape of her neck. Pidge’s stomach still roiled at the physical contact, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability overcame her.

It was just her helmet. She had the rest of her armor, but she was still losing an important piece. It had kept her skull from being split open, as well as offered some protection for her face.

She almost felt naked with her whole face being exposed like this. Pidge just knew Ezor was eyeing her up and down, probably coming up with another demeaning name. But Zarkon had the room. “Acxa, have you reached the paladins?”

Acxa swiveled around, revealing a fairly humanoid face. She was more elfish than Galra-looking. Not Altean-levels of elfish but still enough to offset her from the rest of the group. “Yes, Lord Zarkon. I am patching them through right now.”

Zarkon rumbled. Pidge wasn’t sure what to make of it—good or bad? Not like any part of this that could be good for her.

Ezor hummed to herself, clearly intent on harassing her some more. “Should we gag her before she starts any, ‘Wait, no, it’s a trap,’ hysterics?”

Zethrid snorted from her spot in the back. “Or some hero’s cry of, ‘No, don’t sacrifice yourself for me!’”

Ezor snickered while Zethrid let out a full-on guffaw. Acxa simply focused on the screens again.

Zarkon’s voice resonated in a way which Pidge felt in her chest. “No. The child’s cry draws its team of guardians nearer.”

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, breaking through her heartache. The pieces have all been there, but they finally clicked: Zarkon was going to ransom her.

Obviously. If not her father, then a paladin. The youngest of them, too. Pidge didn’t think of herself that way—as the child of the team—but she knew Matt would charge into a wildfire for her. Shiro would, too. As well as.. Well, the rest of the team. They were close-knit and protective. Especially over her—the resident little sister.

_“But maybe that’s changed,”_ the worst part of her brain spoke up again.

After all, she’s pretty much screwed the whole universe. Not only did she give the Galra a paladin, but also one guy that could've given them some insight on the inner-workings of the empire. Voltron was down a lion and the coalition was down a mole.

All because she decided to do the prisoner exchange herself.

And what did she have to show for it? A dead dad. It was her fault, too. Of course Zarkon would double-cross her. Of course Zarkon would kill her dad when he saw it was just her. How could she be such an idiot?

Hindsight came with a sobering burst of rationale, highlighting every stupid and overemotional part of her plan. As the shame accumulated, Pidge could hardly stand her own skin. It'd make sense if everyone else hated her, now, too.

The shuttle’s main screens faded into a soft blue display, meaning Acxa had connected with the castle's comm-links. The ransom was happening right now.

Pidge averted her eyes. The thought of facing the team—Matt and Shiro most of all—left her stomach in knots. She couldn't do it. She probably owed them this much, anyways. If she looked at them with big, tearful eyes, they might feel compelled to come rescue her—even if they were better off replacing her (By this point, her heart was begging her brain for mercy).

Allura answered the call, apparently ready to curse out Zarkon. The first sounds she made were angry, but they were swallowed up by a gasp. Pidge could hear at least two other people gasp along with her, meaning the whole team hadn't assembled yet. 

Pidge had kidnapped Lotor during their night-cycle, so by this point, only Shiro, Allura, and Coran would be up. They were the early birds of the group.

"It appears only one of your paladins cared for the prisoner." Zarkon drawled before there could be any hero's objections.

There was a slamming sound from the other line. "Let her go, Zarkon! You'll be dealing with a lot more than Voltron if you hurt her." It was Shiro. He sounded pissed.

"Your paladin returned my traitor son to me; however, if you wish to see the child alive, then you will bring me the lions."

Zarkon gets a weighty silence for a reply. They couldn't just give him the lions, but they wouldn't let him have her either. Despite all her self-loathing, Pidge knew this for a fact. The team would launch a risky rescue mission, as much as it both elated and pained her.

"Should I be kept waiting.." Zarkon paused and Ezor took that as her cue.

Her claws dug into Pidge's skin as she forced the girl to look into the screen. It was Shiro, Allura, and Matt—not Coran. Pidge focused on Matt almost immediately. She didn't say anything, mouth anything, or even blink anything—even though he spent the entire eighth grade teaching her morse code. 

She simply stared at Matt, hoping that the gleam of her eyes or the curve of her brows would get the message across: their dad was dead and it was her fault. 

Matt looked torn between anger and fear, but Pidge can't tell what for. Because she had run away? Because she had gotten captured? Because that meant she had taken their dad's place?

Ezor pinched down onto her jaw hard, causing Pidge to hiss in pain. Everyone on the other line took a fighting stance, as if they were going to jump through the screen to fight off her captors.

"Then my generals will wring it for whatever information can be salvaged from this debacle." Zarkon finally finished his thought, keeping the same even tone.

There was no reply this time because Acxa had disconnected the comm-links.

Ezor let go of Pidge's hair and patted her head, somehow even tussling her hair roughly. "Good job being pathetic there, little kitten! I don't think your crew even noticed Lotor hanging back there with the sad orphan faces you were making."

Pidge wanted to bite her. Or at least tell her to fuck off.

She would've done the latter if Acxa hadn't announced as stiffly as ever, "We're docking in the Yexhli cruiser, now, sire."

When they had broken the atmosphere of the quarry planet, they had drifted towards the neighboring planet. Pidge just realized a Galran cruiser had been stationed there, hidden by the rings of the second planet. It left her all the more unnerved that Zarkon had been prepared to launch an entire attack against her.

"Good." Zarkon finally turned away. "Prepare the prisoners."

Lotor grunted from behind, probably getting manhandled by Zethrid.

Pidge's own restraints came off, but she only got a split-tick of freedom before Ezor slapped a pair of Galran manacles on her. Taking after Zarkon, Ezor grabbed her by the collar of her armor, and dragged her out of her seat. Pidge fumbled, trying to get back on her feet—both because of Ezor's rough handling and the way the ship jostled while landing.

They had docked.

Pidge could hear the ramp whirring down as Ezor dragged her towards the doors. When those opened, Pidge went stiff. 

She had been inside plenty of cruisers, but always as an infiltrator—not a prisoner. All the patrolling sentries and working soldiers that were once targets were now captors. She had recognized the profound seriousness of her situation a long time ago, but now an even greater reality ostruck her. 

She wasn't just under Zarkon's thumb, but also his whole empire.

So many eyes were already on her. Zarkon walked past them and down the ramp, prompting every soldier in the docking bay to salute him. Ezor and Zethrid followed after him, dragging Pidge and Lotor respectively. 

She seemed to garner more curious murmurs while Lotor got hateful jeers. Pidge glanced at him briefly, and found Lotor was still staring ahead with dead fish eyes. It looked like he was drunk with disassociation.

In a sick kind of way, Pidge wished she was the same. All this fear was really exhausting.

"I want the prisoners processed." Zarkon commanded no one in particular, but a tufted-ear soldier was already motioning for some sentries to come forward. "The traitor should be kept under constant surveillance, and my generals will begin interrogating the paladin."

He walked away to another wave of salutes and the heralding cries of, "Vrepit Sa.”

Ezor sighed heavily, obviously feigning a sense of forlorn. "Goodbye, little kitten. We'll be seeing each other real soon."

With that, Ezor shoved her into the arms of a sentry. The tufted-ear soldier took Lotor himself, leaving with at least 3 sentries. Pidge was dragged away by just 2, one leading the way while the other pushed her along by jamming its rifle into the small of her back.

Pidge struggled against the manhandling sentries for the brunt of her processing. It was embarrassing, to think about how easily she could hack these bolt-buckets, but not being able to. 

She was pretty sure Zarkon had stolen her bayard while she was unconscious, and the sentries took her gauntlets first. 

The rest of her armor came off next, leaving Pidge in just her flight suit. The sentries also pushed her into what she can only assume was a decontamination chamber, since she got locked into a sort of shower space that blasted her with blistering hot air for at least a tick. There were lots of random scans after that, and for what, Pidge had no idea, but then they threw her into a dingy cell.

It was the first time she had been alone since, well, everything. As she soaked in her dirty, tiny cell, Pidge felt that everything take its toll.

She cried again. It wasn't like last time, or the time before that—when she sobbed her throat raw. It was an overwhelmed kind of cry, where you just kinda stared at nothing as the tears rolled down.

Lips quivering, Pidge found the cleanest corner she could and sat there. It took some maneuvering with her wrists being bound, but she hugged her legs and cried into her knees.

She couldn't help but to think about how, if wasn’t dead, then her dad would be rubbing her back and asking what was wrong. Or how, if she hadn’t run away, Matt and Shiro would be doing the same.

She wanted her family, she wanted her team—she wanted someone.

Unfortunately, her wish got granted in the worst of ways.

The cell door came open with a slight rattle, and Ezor and Zethrid entered like they were their own procession.

"I hope you didn't miss me, little kitten!" Ezor chimed.

Zethrid grunted to herself as she slammed her fists together. "And I hope you're prepared to meet my fists, orphan paladin!"

Pidge didn't get up. Rather, in a sad, quiet voice, she mumbled, “I don’t care what you do to me.”

That was a lie, because as terrible as she felt, she never told the team not to come.

Logically, in her head, she knew rescuing her would be a logistical nightmare, and that her team would be better off replacing her. Maybe with a paladin that didn’t hand themselves over to the enemy. 

Emotionally, in her heart, though, she wished the team would bust through those cell walls, and then rescue her from this literal nightmare. They’d probably call her stupid and selish, but they’d take her home for hugs galore.

But Pidge was way too drained to make a stand. Grief was taking its toll.

She stayed curled up—tensing her arms around her legs, and burrowing her head into her knees. She expected them to either hit or kick her, and she was ready for that (Even as her gut dropped with dread), but instead, she heard one of them settle next to her.

A hand was laid on her back, as gentle as her mother’s own soothing caresses. “Do you wanna talk about it?” It was Ezor.

Pidge didn’t see it, but Zethrid was gawking at Ezor with a look of total bewilderment. Zethrid gestured at her with something roughly translating to, “What happened to pummeling the brat?”

Ezor glared at Zethrid with an evil eye that told her to, “Knock it off!” She then bobbed her head towards Pidge, urging Zethrid to play along.

Zethrid blinked dumbly before a nasty grin stretched across her face. When she settled next to Pidge, there was a great deal more scuffling.

“Yeah, kid,” she spoke softly, “what’s wrong?”

Pidge slowly peeled her face off her knees and glanced between the generals. She preferred whatever this was to getting beaten (Her bones more so than her dignity), but it was still pretty confusing.

What happened to the jerks laughing about her dead dad and threatening to smash her face in?

“My... dad got killed and I got captured. By you guys.”

“But what’s really wrong?”

Pidge looked over to Ezor, wanting to tell her that there couldn't be anything much more wrong than those things.

“Yeah, we expected Voltron to come in full-force. Why were you all alone?”

Pidge looked to Zethrid, wanting to tell her to mind her business.

“Seems to me like you guys got a lot of internal problems!”

Pidge wanted to remind Ezor that she had been the one working under Lotor.

“So, little paladin,” Zethrid clasped a hand onto Pidge's back, covering Ezor's own and jostling the girl with the force of her affectionate gesture, “what’s wrong?”

It was like they pulled the pin of a grenade.

So much was wrong with this whole situation, and so much had been wrong for a long time. Some of those things were little and others big, but altogether they amassed into a giant messy pile of raw feelings.

A lot of unprocessed things were coming up—beyond her current circumstances. Like all the bodies and the graves. Or the weight of having to save the rest of the universe, when so many people treated her like a child.

Crammed between her captors, and pinned under their expectant gazes, Pidge shuddered until she finally burst, “I didn’t even want to be a paladin! I mean, I did, and I love it, but I also wanted to find my family. I told everyone that-- I’d protect the families of the universe while I searched for my own. Do you know how many times I got this close to finding my brother, just to get pulled away on another Voltron mission? When I saw you guys had my dad, and all we had to do was trade in Lotor, I.. had to do it. Why would we keep a creep like him when we could have my dad?”

  
  


Ezor and Zethrid glanced at each other over the girl’s head, both enthralled by just how easily she had cracked.

“Wow,” Ezor smeared on an overly-worried voice, “they wanted you to give up your dad for Lotor? Even after all the times he’s tried to kill you?”

“That’s what I said!” Pidge threw her hands up into the air, or as much as she could from her binds.

“Hm,” Zethrid hummed, “It sounds like they don’t really respect you.”

“You think they would with everything I do!” Pidge sounded more exasperated by the dobash.

“Don’t you do all the hacking?” Ezor had always seen the smallest paladin typing away at something when Lotor attacked them.

“Yeah, and more! I mean, who else do you know that can equip a Voltron lion with cloaking technology? I turned an ancient superpowered war machine invisible!”

“Wow, you must be a technical genius.” It doesn’t matter who said that because it was true.

“I am! I'm a great strategist, too. I actually created fighting profiles for the whole team, so we can best optimize ourselves during enemy encounters."

All of a sudden, there was a shift in the room. Pidge's brain recognized it before she did, constricting her throat so she couldn't say anything else. She had just been venting; unfortunately, it was to the wrong people about the wrong things.

Pidge fumbled to cover up her grave mistake, “Uh—"

But Zethrid was already taking a fistful of Pidge's hair and hoisting her up to eye-level by the scalp.

Once more, Ezor popped up to her left—wearing a smirk just as vicious as Zethrid's own. "Fighting profiles, you say?" She was talking as if she heard some juicy gossip and not highly confidential war secrets. "Do go on."

Pidge closed her eyes tight and grunted, twisting around to cling onto Zethrid’s wrist in a weird sort of pull-up—anything to alleviate the strain. Held like this, Pidge felt every injury she had sustained in the last few vargas flare. Her body begged her to end the pain, but her sense better judgement reminded her to stay strong.

Those fighting profiles highlighted all of the team’s strengths and weaknesses. If the Galra got their hands on that information, there was no way she was ever going to get rescued. 

Plus, she’s already screwed the team enough already.

The Galra already tricked her twice today—she can’t let them get to her a third time.

Zethrid’s claws dug into her scalp, causing Pidge to cringe and keen.

“Come on, little kitten,” Ezor cooed in the same soft voice as before, “you were being so open a minute ago!”

“Let go of me!” Pidge kicked out her legs, hoping to get at least one of them. All she got was laughs.

“You’re not going back down until you fess up or I feel like smashing your face against the floor.” Zethrid shook her.

Pidge could feel the pain starting to erode at her resolve. It was more than her head—everything was hurting, and it was getting worse and worse.

A part of her brain suggested making something up, like Shiro having a trick knee or Lance having bad allergies, but they'd see through her lies (Those ideas were just stupid). Maybe she could just give them one of the more minor team weaknesses, like how Hunk had poor balance or Allura wasn't good with firearms, but they'd expect more (They were looking for something devastating). 

Her sense of better judgement reared up again to squish the thought of disclosing anything; however, that little part of her brain still mulled it over in the backdrop of her consciousness.

There was Shiro, who was an unstoppable fighting machine—unless you triggered a flashback. Pidge could never tell them that; the Galra can't know they have that power over him.

There was Lance, who had range—taking him out left the whole team without support. Pidge couldn't let the Galra know that either.

There was Keith, who.. wasn’t a paladin anymore. Because Lance took over the Red Lion. And had a completely different fighting style, meaning the counters she had against the Red paladin were obsolete now.

Just when Zethrid was about to throw her down, Pidge gave in. “The Red Paladin is hot-headed! He’s a strong fighter, but he’s one-track minded. You can provoke him into abandoning the group.”

“There,” Ezor patted her cheek, “was that so hard?”

As much as it hurt, Pidge was lucky Zethrid dropped her to the ground. Otherwise, she would’ve looked too smug for a supposedly broken prisoner. She just fed them outdated information, and they bought it. Whatever attack plan they made was going to be useless.

It was a small win in a series of brutal losses.

“I think that’s enough for now.” Zethrid patted her hands down her front, as if they were dirty.

Pidge picked herself up enough to sit on her knees, and Ezor crouched down low to boop her nose. “We’ll go tell Zarkon all your juicy secrets, and you can sit here thinking about how easy it was for us to break you.”

Ezor and Zethrid laughed even more when Pidge just glared. They finally left her cell, their cruel laughter only cut off by the door sliding close.

Pidge was left in the dark, once again left to her grief.

The exhaustion from before slowly gave way to anger, as she vowed to herself that she was going to kill Ezor and Zethrid someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are just gonna get worse from here tbh.


	3. things take a turn for the unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acxa thinks about her place in the empire, and Zarkon develops greater plans for Pidge. Meanwhile, Pidge just struggles in general.
> 
> Warning: Zarkon refers to Pidge as an, "it," this chapter. It's less of a him misgendering her to just be extra evil deal, and more of a reflection on just how insignificant Pidge is to him.

She had been more or less emotionally checked out during the hostage exchange. 

Truthfully, Acxa didn't really care about Voltron. It was too.. big. Most understood Voltron to be a kind of ancient god, having grown up with stories about its fantastical powers. Now that it had resurfaced, Voltron warped the boundaries between the possible and the impossible. 

She had cared about Voltron when it was part of Lotor’s plan; she had always cared about Lotor and his dreams. But, then he murdered Narti in cold blood, and both Acxa and the others realized they were as disposable in his utopia as they were in the empire. 

They just wanted a home to call their own. They did not want to sacrifice themselves for a false dream based on an old god.

Acxa could see Lotor now, from the corner of her eye—trapped under Zethrid’s steely grip. 

After the Green Paladin had been restrained, Acxa started hailing the Castle of Lions. It took a tick. The paladins’ frequency was not cataloged on the shuttle, meaning she had to manually tune their comm-links to it. She wondered, briefly, why Zarkon didn’t just wait until they were back on the Yexhli cruiser. There, they could hail the Castle of Lions instantly, and from the safety of a stronghold, too.

Then he clanked over to Lotor, and Acxa understood why.Zarkon wanted to broadcast his prisoners freshly beaten, as well as deliver them to his main ship in the sorest of states. It was a way to send a message to both his enemies and his underlings.

Zethrid must've understood this, too, because she unhanded Lotor and stepped away—standing at attention along the side-lines. Ezor slinked beside her after dumping the old man’s body outside, probably smearing half of his blood on the shuttle floor. 

A heavy silence settled over the ship. Acxa stopped messing with the controls, distracted by the building tension in the air. Zarkon and Lotor were just glaring at each other—trying to intimidate the other. 

Lotor was the one to break the ice. “Father.”

The beating was instantaneous. Zarkon head-butted Lotor, nearly toppling his son to the floor. It made Acxa queasy that Lotor barely even grunted at the ensuing blows. 

“For all your years of colluding, I allowed you to laze around in exile.” Two more blows—one sounded like a slap.

“But then I learned your degenerate hands hoped to rob me of my throne!” There was a loud clatter this time; Zarkon must’ve thrown Lotor to the wall. Acxa stopped peeking over her shoulder and focused straight ahead. Her hands went from hovering over the controls to wringing each other in her lap. 

“Now your death shall be made a spectacle—an example for traitors.” Given all the gurgling sound Lotor made, Zarkon was most likely stomping on his throat. For a while, there were nothing but choked squeaks and gasps, but they finally settled into deep, heaving breaths after a few dobashes. As those evened out to little gasps for air, Lotor spat out in a bitter voice, “If the Green lion hadn’t bonded with a child, I would have killed you today.”

No blows followed that bout of insolence, and Acxa felt her gut untwist itself just a little.

“Zethrid,” Zarkon heaved, apparently winded, “restrain him. Acxa,” Acxa’s fingers were back on the controls before Zarkon was behind her, “take off. We will ransom the child after we break orbit.”

“Of course, sire,” Acxa bowed her head. She left the controls dialed to the paladins’ frequency, and launched the shuttle—relying more on muscle memory than focus to fly it. 

Her, Ezor, and Zethrid—they all wanted to avenge Narti, and they’ve done exactly that. Whatever life Lotor would have in Zarkon's custody would be short, miserable, and painful. But, as much as she hated him, Acxa didn’t want to witness the gore of his demise. They could consider Narti avenged so long as they knew he would suffer immensely and die pathetically.

She had been prepared to barter with or even fight against Voltron for that promise.

But then the Green Paladin had shown up in a tiny shuttle for the exchange. They had thought it was a ruse, but their scanners failed to pick up another ship within the quadrant. At that point, Acxa knew this situation would piral out of control, and extend well past her need for vengeance. 

She made sure to hide these feelings of disapproval under a thick layer of professional indifference, though. They had managed to strike a plea deal with Zarkon, but he was likely to take any hint of objection as grounds for execution. Something which left Acxa’s stomach in tight knots. 

She stayed indifferent as the Green Paladin came to, and both Ezor and Zethrid entertained themselves by provoking a grieving child. She stayed indifferent as they finally broke orbit, and Zarkon broadcasted his ransom to the other paladins. Him referring to them as, “My generals,” managed to unfurl the tight knots in her stomach, since that meant they would be spared from execution for now; however, the thought of being Zarkon’s general also left her unsettled. As indifferent as she’s remained, the child paladin’s mournful cries planted a seed of pity in her heart.

Acxa didn’t want to witness gore or anguish, and that seemed to be all Zarkon promised. 

When they finally docked, Acxa was the slowest to raise. She covered the lethargy by resetting the controls, before she finally followed Zarkon and his procession of torment.

Except, as she was exiting the ship, she caught a blur of stark white in the corner of her eye. When she looked closer, she realized that it was the child paladin’s bayard. It must've been lodged under a crate when Zarkon had beat the child paladin senseless. Knowing Zarkon would want it, she picked it up carefully—unsure how it might react to her. Nothing happened so she clipped the bayard alongside her holster. Once she finally stepped into the hanger, both Lotor and the child paladin were already being dragged out. 

“Acxa!” Ezor sprung out of nowhere, and wrung herself around Acxa’s arm—smiling as wide as ever. “Can you believe it? We’re Zarkon’s generals.”

Zethrid chuffed with a half-chuckle, clasping her hand on both of their backs after springing from the sidelines herself. “And we already have our first assignment: interrogating the brat.” 

“Oooh~!” Ezor’s voice took a turn for the sing-songy, “Something tells me getting that kitten to talk is going to be as easy as it will be fun. What do you say, Acxa? You can start things off with your whole, ‘Tell us what we want before things get ugly,’ bit before me and Zethrid step in.” 

Acxa felt that seed of pity in her heart flare. She did not want to see the child paladin again, knowing it would be nothing but more anguish. A part of Acxa reminded her that, should she leave the girl to Ezor and Zethrid, then that anguish would only grow. Acxa was in no position to play guardian, though. She may be Zarkon’s general now, but she needed to prove herself more reliable than a fugitive striking a plea deal. 

“I need to bring this to Emperor Zarkon first,” Acxa explained in a neutral tone, nodding towards the bayard. 

Ezor glanced between it and Acxa, wearing a sullen face as Zethrid hummed in distaste overhead. “Okay, I guess, but it’s your loss. Kids are super easy to make cry.”

They left, far less boisterous than before. Acxa knew they would question her later, too, but she focused on the task at hand.

Weaving between uncaring sentries and sneering soldiers, Acxa marched towards the bridge. It took an elevator trip and about five dobashes of walking, but she had no real timeline to keep. Upon arrival, Zarkon looked back from the main controls. It appeared he had been talking to Commander Ladnok, who was now ordering around sentries and technicians alike. 

“Have you completed the interrogation?” 

“No, sire.” Acxa bowed her head. “General Ezor and Zethrid are conducting the interrogation, but I knew you would want this.” She approached Zarkon with the bayard in hand, and smothered the shiver that ran down her spine when he brushed against her fingers to take it. 

He inspected it, but it did not respond to him. “Hm,” his hum resonated through the room. “Stand by, General Acxa.”

Acxa saluted him with a quiet, “Vrepit Sa,” before settling into a rigid position. She could feel herself falling into a dissociative pit, staring at the stars ahead. She only vaguely caught how Ladnok was preparing the ship for warp speed, and how Zarkon was relaying different orders to Central Command through a series of technicians. 

The paladins would be attacking Central Command for a third time, and the empire’s pride could not handle another razing.

Acxa would have to guess another eight or so dobashes passed for Ezor and Zethrid burst onto the bridge. She, along with Zarkon, Ladnok, and even some technicians, all looked back at them. 

Ezor and Zethrid offered salutes in return for their rambunctious entrance, before Ezor perked up with an evil smirk. “We had a very successful interrogation session!”

Zethrid marched towards Zarkon with Ezor in tow, “We will provide a proper report soon, Emperor Zarkon, but we felt it was important to inform you that the paladin keeps fighting profiles on her teammates. She even revealed the Red Paladin’s greatest weakness.” 

“And how she’s equipped the Green Lion with cloaking technology, she’s the team technician, and all sorts of other juicy secrets,” Ezor added on with more of a gloating tone.

Acxa cringed inwardly, worried Zarkon might be offended by Ezor’s lack of professionalism. She glanced over at him, fearing for the worse. Zarkon’s eyes were blown out wide, though, before they narrowed down into slits. They looked more focused, or even determined, than anything wicked.

Without any explanation, he gestured flippantly towards Ladnok. “Take us to Central Command, and debrief General Ezor and Zethrid.”

It was finally Ladnok’s turn to salute as she gave her own, “Vrepit-sa.”

Meanwhile, Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid looked between each other confusedly as Zarkon clanked off the bridge, as they wondered what exactly Ezor said that made him react that way.

* * *

Zarkon could feel a type of manic energy throb through his arms as he tried to rein in all the potentials cropping up in his mind. He needed to focus on the now before getting caught up in flights of fancy.

His footsteps echoed down the galley. Most of the cells were empty, otherwise cries and murmurs would be filtering through the hall. Besides his own clanking, there was only one other sound: a loud series of hammering noises. 

It was the paladin. Zarkon stood in front of its cell, now, and the hammering noises were seeping out from under the door.

He pressed his hand against the padlock, and the cell door slid open.

He stared down and the paladin stared right back up at him—properly petrified by his presence. It was holding its arms over its head, like it was about to bash its binds against the door. Whether it was an escape attempt or just a childish tantrum did not matter as both were equally pathetic.

The paladin slowly lowered its arms, and took a step backwards. And then a couple more when it still had to crane its neck to look up at him.

“Um.” Its nervous excuses never escaped its lips, as Zarkon crossed the threshold and picked the paladin up by the throat. He slammed the paladin against the far-wall—half-choking it between his claws.

It sputtered and whined, and if it were not for his spawn absorbing the majority of his shame, then Zarkon would say the paladin disappointed him. It was small and weak. The only reason it could have survived this war for this long was the lions—safeguarding it from danger, and spoon-feeding it strategy. This is why he needed to reclaim his place as the Black Paladin, so he could return Voltron to its former glory. 

The paladin turned quiet, apparently convinced that he did not intend to choke it to death (Yet).

“Did the Green Lion allow you to modify it?”

The paladin made a face of complete bewilderment. It opened its mouth, then closed it again—unsure how to respond.

Zarkon clamped down onto its throat, staring into the paladin's eyes as it kicked its legs and gurgled on nothing. Once its face took on a red tint, he finally loosened his hold on its throat.

“Answer me, child,” Zarkon droned with a growl edging along his words. He tensed his claws so that the paladin knew better than to delay.

“Yes..?” It answered in a voice caught between hesitation and confusion, slightly strained as its throat turned an angry red. “You.. you guys have known that for weeks, now.” Pidge thought back to the prison planet the coalition had liberated, and how it had specifically designed a shield to disable all cloaking technology. She had to have triggered dozens of alarms, but no such reports ever reached Zarkon. All he knew was that the place had been ransacked.

Zarkon narrowed his eyes and tensed his claws—harder, this time—to warn against the insolent tone. The paladin winced and he hummed a monotone note in thought. The potential he had in mind seemed more plausible than fantastical, now. He was quiet, for a moment, before announcing, “Then you will remain with me, child, and bond the Black Lion to me once more.”

The paladin started flapping its mouth, but no real words came out. Its eyes grew wide as platters, and they shimmered with the same desperation of a prisoner awaiting execution. “But.. You said.. You..” After a tick, words seemed to finally fit together in the paladin’s head, and with a new air of rebellion, it cried, “But you promised you’d give me back--!”

Zarkon interrupted the waterworks by, yet again, slamming the paladin into the wall. This time with an iron-grip on her throat. “I promised you alive, not returned—even that much I do not owe you,” He hissed over all the stuttering gasps and bubbling tears. “You will either comply or perish.” 

He let the paladin choke for another tick before finally releasing it. It slid down the wall, rubbing at its throat as it gasped in all the air it needed. Zarkon remained looming overhead, and he could tell the paladin hated how it was engulfed by his shadow. It winced under his menace like so many before it had.

The paladin remained in its heap on the ground before continuing its protests with a wheeze, “But, I can’t do anything with the Black lion--” 

“You know nothing of the lions." Zarkon interjected with a rumble. "They were manufactured by those less worthy, and evidently, they can be augmented by those even more undeserving.”

* * *

There was a line somewhere, about how Zarkon was the “unworthy” and “undeserving” one, but her mortality warned her against it.

Instead, Pidge focused on the ground. She wasn’t quite sure how to process this. The ransom stuff made sense, as terrifying as it all was, but this? Pidge had somehow stumbled from one terrible situation to even more terrible one. She didn't even understand these new circumstances. She was Zarkon’s prisoner, that much she knew, but now he was taking her as.. What, his lion technician? It sounded so far-fetch. There had to be some kind of horrible catch to all of this, like draining her quintessence as part of an druid ritual.

Zarkon took her sullen silence as a concession, and picked her up by the forearm. Pidge tried to get up herself, but Zarkon rocketed her to her feet—leaving her unbalanced. She fell into his side, then stumbled to walk after him. He left her cell in a brisk pace, toting her along with no regard for the incredible size difference between them. Every one of his steps was five of hers. Pidge made a valiant effort; however, as disorinted as she was (Both physically and mentally), she wound up dragged behind Zarkon.

She just went limp in his grip, paralyzed by the unknown. 

Zarkon walked up, and up, and up the halls—passing rows of cells, lines of sentries, and a gaggle of soldiers. They saluted Zarkon and rubbernecked her. Pidge could hear one of them murmur something, and she had no idea what that something was, but it reminded her of how Ezor and Zethrid had kept talking over her.

The soldier was probably calling her kitten, or orphan paladin, or something equally awful, and with that thought Pidge felt the anger and hatred in her heart reignite. She started thrashing her head around, then dug her heels into the ground and screamed random threats—mostly stuff about blasting everyone into space. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she had to fight. Against Zarkon, against those rubbernecking soldiers—against everyone and everything around her.

“You’ll all be sorry! I swear! My team will come for me, and I’ll take you all out from the inside!” She spouted off whatever came to her head, but Zarkon didn't acknowledge any of it. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice her struggles—dragging her just as easily as he did before.

Pidge kept thrashing, even stumbling over herself to try to kick at Zarkon some more. She ended up crashing into him when he stopped in front of a wide set of doors, too caught up in her defiant rage. Her chin took the brunt of the impact, and the taste of copper burst in her mouth as stars danced around the room. 

Pidge peeled herself off of Zarkon, and felt her eyes burn with even more tears. This time, she actually felt kinda embarrassed. Was she really going to cry over a hurt chin after getting her dad killed and herself kidnapped who wanted to do who-knows-what with her?

Zarkon pulled her ahead without any regard for her brooding, stepping onto the bridge with her in tow. All around them there were holographic displays, giant computers, and hundreds of control panels. The stars that warped past the ship were almost enough to distract Pidge from all the prying eyes of technicians, all of which caused that inkling of embarrassment to flourish. 

Pidge hated how she was feeling embarrassed in front of these people. They were the enemy, why should she care about what these intergalactic thugs thought? Nonetheless, Pidge felt her face turn warm as Zarkon dragged her forward, and then shoved her into Acxa.

Acxa was quick to turn her around so she was facing Zarkon again. Since her hands were handcuffed in front, Acxa placed a hand on Pidge’s shoulder—squeezing hard enough to threaten her with a broken collarbone.

Pidge stayed put. Although, that didn’t stop her from glaring daggers at anyone and anything. Zarkon, the commander lady (She looked like she had the ears of a fleshy cocker spaniel), and the everyone else on deck—nobody was safe from her figurative glare-daggers. Or really affected. Only Commander Flesh-ears (Pidge thought it was a fitting name for her) responded, and that was with a sneer. 

Zarkon simply pushed ahead with his crazy plans.

* * *

“I want the paladin kept within the deepest reaches of Central Command. General Acxa,” Zarkon turned to Acxa, “you will guard it.”

He recognized her surprise, as well his commander’s own incredulous look, that he would choose a rogue half-breed rather than a member of his own fleet.

Neither voiced any complaint, as both were far too well-trained. They would have to trust that Zarkon had his reasons, and in that, they would be correct. 

He had been injured—mortally wounded. After ruling for ten thousand deca-phoebs, the slightest provocation to his health or wellness created a power vacuum that soldiers clamored over each other to fill. His son was the worst of them all, but some of his commanders had also turned traitor. There had even been some whispers of lieutenants scheming their own coups. 

They all hoped to seize his throne, and for their conspiracy, Zarkon would throw his fleets into battle. They would remember to revere him, as he led the charge against the lions. They would remember to fear him, as he tore through enemy lines they themselves could never cross with his bare hands. 

Then, the survivors would watch him execute Lotor, and after being showered in traitor’s blood, his subjects would remember their one, true emperor. 

Acxa and the other half-breed generals were loyal. Their surrendering Lotor and serving him on this mission proved that much. Ezor and Zethrid's fervor would be valuable assets on the battlefield, whereas Acxa’s level-head would make for an excellent guard. 

His remaining soldiers, however, would have to prove their worth to him.

* * *

The child paladin spoke up, completely ignorant to the weight of Zarkon’s command, “That doesn’t change the fact that the lions can tear through that junk heap just like they did the last two times--"

Acxa slapped a hand over the child paladin's mouth, effectively muting her to nothing but muffled squeals. For something so small, she could fit a lot of words in one breath. 

“Of course, Sire.” In lieu of a salute, Acxa bowed her head again—keeping one hand clamped around the child paladin’s mouth and the other clamped on her shoulder.

Zarkon rumbled—pleased—at that. 

Acxa actually felt a twinge of pride, but she forgot about it when the child paladin chomped down on one of her fingers. It was more surprising than it was painful. Acxa managed to swallow back a gasp, refusing to let her moment be ruined—not when Zarkon had hand-selected her a task in a ship full of his own soldiers. While the thought of being his general still unsettled her, Acxa also found relief knowing Zarkon trusted her. She had been redeemed and exalted.

But apparently the child paladin knew what a crucial moment this was for her self-preservation and started chewing on her fingers. Hard. Human teeth were too dull to maul, but they were sharp enough to pinch. A lot. 

Acxa ground her teeth, working through the increasing discomfort. Then child paladin also tried stomping on her foot, and Acxa decided that enough was enough. Pulling back on the girl's hair, Acxa slid her gun out of its holster and stuck the barrel-end of it into the small of the child paladin's back.

* * *

Pidge hissed in pain before she seethed with her newly reclaimed voice, “Aren’t you going to tell Zarkon about the time you—?” But the gun against her back whirred to life, and cut her throwing-Acxa-under-the-bus-by-reminding-everyone-she-served-Lotor plan short (She would’ve named it something more to the point, like Project Disdain, if she had more time). 

Apparently, the Galra wanted her alive. Getting brutally maimed by laser-fire didn’t necessarily cancel out her being alive, though.

She settled back into her death-glare routine, enjoying what defiance she was allotted. It was her indirect way of saying: they’re all on her shit-list. She’d get Ezor and Zethrid first, then Zarkon, then Acxa (Pidge hadn’t forgotten Miss Elf-barrettes part in all of this), and then everybody else in this empire.

But no one seemed fazed by the silent threat.

Zarkon turned away to stare ahead into the main display windows. Commander Flesh-ears looked between her and Acxa, and in a rigidly polite tone, said, “I hope that the young paladin does not prove to be too troublesome for you, General.”

If the joke wasn’t based on how she should be “easy” to handle, then Pidge might’ve snorted at the diss. She could at least appreciate how 1. ) no one else seemed to like Lotor’s old lady generals, and 2. ) she was proving herself to be a handful. 

Logically, in her head, she knew it was better to seem as unassuming as possible, and bide her time. But she didn’t even know what she was escaping from. Was Zarkon just going to keep her.. forever? To work as his lion lion technician or whatever the hell he was planning for her? The odds she faced were getting worse and worse, and after getting as thoroughly beaten as she had, Pidge felt somewhat gratified in causing her captors their own discord.

Although, that gratification faded away pretty quickly when Acxa spun her around—letting go of her hair, but keeping the gun against her back. Acxa pushed Pidge along like this, but the second they passed the door, she holstered her gun.

“It’d be better if you cooperated. These soldiers don’t need another reason to beat you.” 

Pidge looked over her shoulder with a raised brow and pointed tone, “You mean like your friends, Ezor and Zethrid?”

“Yes, especially them.”

At that, Pidge blinked. She was surprised Acxa would throw those two into the same lot as every ever Galra soldier. Pidge meant to sound suspicious, but her voice took a turn for the hopeful, “And what about you?”

“I don’t appreciate unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Then why did you let them kill my dad?”

“You charged Emperor Zarkon. What did you expect?”

Pidge snapped her head back to the front. Resentment swallowed up that glimmer of hope, reminding her that Acxa couldn’t be trusted just because she had been slightly gentler with her than the others. " _Even though_ ," the worst part of her brain interjected, " _she's right_."

She cringed inwardly, remembering her dream of somehow KO’ing Zarkon and flying away on her rinky-dink shuttle with her dad in tow, but what else was she supposed to do? It made sense for them to kidnap her, but killing her dad was just cruel for cruelty’s sake. 

Acxa said nothing, and continued to push her ahead.

* * *

She was able to suppress her pity on the bridge, when she had to keep a straight face in front of Zarkon and Ladnok.

But now that Acxa was alone with the child paladin, excluding the patrolling sentries, she was reminded of the same anguish on the shuttle. She couldn’t help but notice the growing purple bruises on the child paladin’s throat, and wondered whether it was Zarkon or Zethrid’s doing.

She had to guess Zethrid since Zarkon had a sudden interest in the child paladin. 

For what reason, no one had figured out yet, but Acxa was at least thankful to act as guard instead of fighter. Although, she knew she would be just as drained handling the child paladin as she would be fighting the other paladins. The girl was at a constant draw between forlorn misery and feral rage; Acxa was amazed the tiny thing hadn't tired itself out.

This, at least, was one of her quiet moments, which meant Acxa didn’t have to struggle to get the child paladin in the main elevator. 

As they stepped onto the hangar, the intercoms came to life and Ladnok announced, "We are now docking in Central Command. All ship personnel is to remain in their stations as we prepare for enemy contact."

* * *

Pidge would like to say she kept struggling. She had so much righteous fury to channel into confrontation—against Acxa, against everyone and everything around her. But Pidge also had so much fear, grief, and shame clinging onto her under an even greater wave of confusion.

When you mixed all those things together, it just made an overwhelming kind of exhaustion.

Pidge let Acxa push her ahead, taking vague notes of Central Command’s inner-workings. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her head, if she had entered the same dissociative state Lotor had, and just how more intricate Central Command was from the inside.

Pidge had only ever seen it from the outside, when the team attacked it. The worst part of her brain probably reminded her how they barely survived either encounter, even with all the lions fighting, but Pidge was numb to that part of herself by this point. It had already spent the last several vargas reminding her she’d never get to hug her dad again.

They passed through many levels, across several halls, and past even more Galra; until, finally, Acxa pushed her into what Pidge could only describe as a dive bar. It was small and dark, and a dinky bar along the back wall. There were also couches lining the walls, adding a pristine touch to an otherwise dank room.

“I thought you were supposed to lock me up or something.” 

“Yes, into the deepest reaches of Central Command.” Acxa led her towards a line of couches, and pushed her down onto the surprisingly plush cushions. “All prisoner cells line the outermost walls of Central Command—so dissenters can be jettisoned, and rebels are less likely to attack the hull.” 

That was pretty messed up. Pidge blinked, her heart urging her to say something, but her brain reminding her that she couldn’t expect much from an empire of two-faced, dad-killing kidnappers. So she settled for a dry scoffing sound.

“You should have expected this after how easily you paladins were able to retrieve Princess Allura during your first raid. Do you not learn from your mistakes?”

Pidge bristled at that. Acxa had more of a rhetorical tone, but Pidge took the question as a jab. Like Acxa as indirectly asking her, “Don’t you wish you fucked up less?”

“What about you?” Pidge half-sneered. “You worked for Lotor. You probably have loads of mistakes to learn from.”

* * *

At that, Acxa bristled, but in her own subdued way. 

Instantly, she thought back to the weblum. And Narti. She had wasted deca-phoebs of her life inside a weblum because of one bad flight maneuver, then let one of her closest friends die. Narti was not even granted a proper funeral. Acxa had so many regrets which stung at her soul, but none of which concerned the child paladin.

So she sat in silence, and the child paladin sulked to herself.

Left with nothing but her thoughts, Acxa turned over the events of the today. She remembered when Ezor had shot the old man. He used his last breath to yell, “Katie, get out here!” Under Lotor, she had known this girl as the Green Paladin, and under Zarkon, she had come to recognize the Green Paladin to be no more than the child paladin. However, it dissuaded the pity in her heart, at least by the little, to give the child paladin an actual name. 

“Your name is Katie, correct?” 

Katie went ridgid, and she hissed her words. “You don’t get to call me that.” 

“I think you will appreciate me calling you Katie more than ‘kitten’ or ‘orphan paladin.’”

All the sudden, alarms began to blare overhead, and the magenta lights lining the corners of the room flared. Enemies had been spotted, and all soldiers were being called to their post. The other paladins were launching their rescue mission.

Acxa settled into her seat; her main objective was to keep Katie here. Acxa was about to lament to herself how that’d be easy enough (The girl was far more subdued than she had been earlier), but then a stinging pain erupted along the bridge of her nose. The taste of fructose burst in her mouth and stars danced around the room.

* * *

Katie had sprung onto her feet, and swung her manacled wrists right into Acxa’s nose. Acxa held her face with a high keen, and Katie took the chance to swing her manacled wrists down onto the back of her neck. At that, Acxa folded over herself with a much more guttural groan of pain—allowing Katie to jump over her and then onto the floor. 

She made a mad dash for the door. She was getting rescued! All she had to do was get to her team, and she would never have to worry about what Zarkon meant by bonding him to the Black Lion.

Katie was one good leap from the door, when she felt claws dig into the collar of her flight suit. 

Acxa yanked her backwards, making Katie fall back into her arms. 

With no real sense of aim, Katie threw her hands over her head. The manacles connected with Acxa’s breastplate, which caused a loud clanging sound, but did nothing to free Katie from Acxa’s grip. Instead, Katie pivoted around on her heel—letting Acxa tear at her flight suit. 

“You’re making this more difficult for yourself, Katie,” Acxa warned with a bloody nose.

“You don’t get to kill my dad and keep me! And you definitely don’t get to call me that, either!” Katie charged Acxa, apparently learning nothing.

Just like Zarkon did, Acxa simply side-stepped Katie. She grabbed at the girl’s left calf, instead, though—allowing gravity to subdue her target rather than brute force.

Katie fell face-first into the floor with a loud smack, one which vindicated the pain throbbing through Acxa’s broken nose. She slowly peeled her face off the floor, and glared back at Acxa with hateful eyes. 

Katie tried once—then twice and thrice—to roll onto her back. But Acxa kept a steely grip on her ankle, making Katie twist her own ankle at even the slightest twitch. She wanted to keep fighting, but she had been rendered more or less been immobile. Any attack plans that came to mind were forfiet, because Katie couldn't even get up. After trying once more to turn onto her back—only to keen at her ankle being twisted—Katie settled her face back onto the floor. Her whole whole body shook as the sting of defeat wrung a whimper out of her throat. 

* * *

Katie was caught somewhere between panting and crying; Acxa could tell from the red face and watery eyes.

“I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to help Zarkon.”

Acxa cringed. There was no more defiant edge to Katie’s voice; now, it was pure anguish. She sounded like a child lost in the mall, whose entire world crumbled the tick their hand left their mother’s own.

Katie heaved on a snotty sob as the whole of her face became a mess of mucus, tears, and bruises. 

Acxa felt the urge to try to offer some consolation, but her ear-piece buzzed to life with Ezor’s sing-songy voice, “Acxa, you wouldn’t believe it! The paladins retreated almost as soon as they got here, and apparently the witch had this whole clone scheme going on in the side-line. It was crazy! Either way, Zarkon wants you to bring the kitten to Haggar’s spooky witch chambers.”

Acxa hummed in the affirmative and signed off with a curt, “I will be there in 5 dobashes.” She sighed to herself, already dreading the impending dramatics. Acxa braced her heart, and steeled her face over to total indifference. “Zarkon wants to see you.”

Katie peeked over her shoulder again with tearful eyes, and in an even more pitiful voice than before, stammered, “But.. my team.. Matt..” 

"They retreated,” Acxa deposited quickly, offering no further elaboration. She dropped Katie’s leg, and then hoisted her off the floor by the forearm. The girl was completely limp, as if Zarkon had beaten her senseless again. She refused to stand up on her own feet.

As Acxa hefted Katie over her shoulder, her ears picked up a distinct whining sound. It broke into a new series of quiet sobs that were muffled against her armor. Once again, Acxa felt the urge to offer some consolation. Her free hand hovered over the girl’s head before hesitantly patting it. 

It did nothing to settle Katie’s tears or Acxa’s guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how are you guys enjoying this story?? I'm still getting use to fanfiction writing, but I'm excited by the scenes I have in my drafts.


	4. things take a turn for the gorey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter includes some visceral gore in the middle, like mutilation of the throat visceral. This is a pretty big part of the plot, but if you're willing to go off by reference alone, then skip over the part's that boxed off with *** points.

Acxa felt more and more drained. 

First, the hostage exchange spiraled out of control (Somehow turning into an entirely new scheme), and now she was dragging the anguish child through twenty different parties. 

They were popping up all over Central Command—even the most stoic soldiers proud of their victory. Acxa supposed it had to be gratifying to chase off Voltron after so many thwartings, but she kept that bit of dissonance to herself. 

She had to remind herself that the Empire’s victories were her victories, now, too.

Soldiers were either drinking or bragging, claiming to have personally hit a Voltron lion from their station. Between all the different conversational blurbs, Acxa picked up something about how Zarkon had recaptured the Black Lion. She supposed it was connected to Haggar’s clone plot, and glanced briefly at Katie for her reaction. 

Katie kept her face hidden. Her arms were pressed tight to the sides of her head, acting like barriers against the outside world. Acxa imagined Katie was trying to grieve to herself, without attracting the attention of any rambunctious soldiers. Urged by punctuality and pity alike, Acxa walked at a brisk pace until they had passed the party traffic.

Now, they were in the quietest part of the whole ship: the druid wing. Not even sentries patrolled these halls—only ever seen dragging prisoners to fates worse than death. Here, Acxa could hear all of Katie’s sniffles and sobs. They echoed off the walls, making for an eerie song. 

Focusing on her orders, Acxa kept her eyes forward. Before long, they were in front of Haggar’s chamber doors. With a quiet grunt, Acxa slid Katie off her shoulders. The girl was still limp, but Acxa held onto her bicep—making her at least half-stand. When the doors opened to reveal both Zarkon and Haggar, Acxa felt Katie go stiff with fear. It made dragging her into the room easier, even though Katie still refused to move her feet.

For what felt like the millionth time today, Acxa bowed her head and saluted. “Lord Zarkon, I have brought you the paladin.” 

The whole room seemed to resonate with an intense energy, which only increased when both Zarkon and Haggar set their eyes on either of them. Actually, they were only really looking at Katie—overlooking Acxa even as Zarkon spoke to her. “General Acxa, your assistance has greatly benefited the Empire. Standby for your next assignment.”

Acxa glanced down at Katie again, and saw the girl was already trembling. She pulled her eyes away, though, when the pity in her heart flared again—this time to such a point that it demanded action beyond basic comforts. But this was no time for defiance, so with one last, “Vrepit sa,” Acxa let go of Katie’s arm and marched out the doors.

* * *

Each one of Acxa’s footsteps thumped along with Katie’s heartbeat, until her heart thumped alone under the prying eyes of Zarkon and Haggar.

As much as she hated Acxa, Katie wished the general was still here. At least then she wouldn’t be alone with the two most evil people in the entire universe. 

Was she going to die now? Zarkon had said she was going to bond him to the Black lion again, and now he had dragged her into Haggar’s chambers. At least one metaphorical cart along her train of thought wondered why they looked more like a lobby than an evil laboratory, given Haggar’s whole thing was creating abominations of nature. The witch had to have all sorts of creepy rooms filled with all sorts of creepy things, but that thought was secondary to Katie’s terror of what creepy things might be done to her.

Was the witch going to drain her quintessence? Or turn her into a robeast? Or some other terrible thing that she couldn’t even imagine?

Zarkon stepped forward, and Katie felt her knees buckle. “What.. What are you going to do to me?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Katie didn’t want to appear any weaker than she already did; however, the fear that clenching at her heart didn’t give a damn about her sense of dignity. It needed to know the stakes.

Zarkon did not answer her. He reached for her, as he ordered, “Haggar, prepare yourself.”

Katie tried to dodge him, but Zarkon yanked her up by the hair easily. She keened, cringing so much that her face nearly turned in on itself. She struggled even though the slightest movement felt like she might get herself scalped.

Zarkon hoisted her up to eye-level regardless, and settled a claw on her collarbone.

“The Black lion has been returned to its rightful owner, and in time, it shall bow to my command once more. However, you may be able to expedite that process. Prove your worth as a paladin, or I will dispose of you just as I did your Black paladin.”

***

Katie mouthed a quiet, “What,” before Zarkon pressed a claw against her collarbone. It broke her skin easily, and while that did not necessarily hurt (It was more generally uncomfortable and insanely menacing), he slowly dragged his claw up. 

It cut through her flesh like wrapping paper, and just like that, Katie’s brain went into panic mood. She went right back to struggling (Thrashing, kicking, spitting), but that just made Zarkon dig his claw even deeper into the flesh of her throat. Her limbs locked up on their own, so Zarkon wouldn’t tear open her esophagus. 

“W-What do you mean ‘prove useful’? I don’t even know what you want me to do!”

Zarkon’s claw had passed her collarbone, and Katie could feel the distinct warmth of blood smearing onto her front. Desperate tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, as her body begged the universe to let it live. 

“I don’t know what you want! How am I supposed to bond you to the Black lion when I’m the Green Paladin?!”

Zarkon’s claw was slowly gliding up her throat, now, and Katie felt herself gurgle on nothing. 

Oh god, this was when she was going to die. This is how she was going out.

Those desperate tears flowed freely, now, and they oozed down her face in fat droplets. 

Zarkon had to be half-way up her throat by now, and in the most visceral way possible, she felt his claw steer left. She had been long since aware of the threat of death, but it was only now that she realized what would be the cause of death: blood loss. 

He was going to slice open her jugular, then let her bleed out—unless she proved her worth. But how? Her brain jumped to Zarkon wanting her to surrender herself as his paladin, or to survive as part of some Galran strength test. Maybe this whole thing was just a ruse to kill her in the cruelest way possible. Everything that came to mind was just another manic thought that joined the psychological backdrop of mortal peril.

As blood came gushing down her throat, Katie made a noise that was caught somewhere between a shriek of terror and a bleat of defeat. Zarkon’s eyes seemed to bore into her skull—somehow both indifferent and hateful. He cared so little for her existence, but was willing to make it as painful as possible. 

Feeling Zarkon’s claw inch closer and closer to her jugular, Katie closed her eyes tight.

Despite never once considering religion, she prayed to God—anyone that might be up there. She hoped there was a heaven; she hoped her dad was there. He’d wake her up in paradise, and everything happening right now would just be a bad memory. 

But, before Zarkon could completely slice through her throat, there was reverberation that reached so deeply into her person that it made her bones rattle. With it came a burst of light in her mind’s eye, which burned through all the horror and pain. 

Katie did not feel a calm wash over her so much a jolt that threw her consciousness out of her corporeal form. It was like she had overdosed on dissociation, as she looked down herself from a million miles away. Only it wasn’t herself—not how she saw herself, anyways. It was more like she was looking down on a faint green light, which seemed to get dimmer and dimmer. For a tick, it seemed like that little, green light had faded away altogether, and Katie felt an angry—no, furious—growl shake the void around her. 

She came hurtling back towards that green light, and all the sudden, Katie was blinking with her own two eyes again. Rather unceremoniously, Zarkon withdrew his claw and dropped her to the floor.

“Haggar.” He stepped past his victim, who continued to bleed all over herself. Zarkon hadn’t punctured her jugular, but between blood loss and out-of-body experience, Katie was disoriented enough that all she could do was dumbly feel at her slashed throat. 

***

She wasn’t sure whether Haggar had appeared out of nowhere, or just walked over, but the witch clamped a hand onto the back of her neck. Instantly, Katie was enveloped in a murky blue aura. 

It wasn’t painful, like how Keith and Allura had described Druid magic, but it was gross. In that it made her skin crawl and her stomach roil, as if her body instinctively knew Druid magic was unnatural.

The aura dissipated within ticks, and Haggar retracted her hand even quicker. Katie caught herself enough to not completely face-plant, then filled her lungs up with as many deep, heaving breaths as possible. 

Katie was reeling from the fact that she was still alive. She felt around her neck and couldn’t find any gash—there weren’t even any scars. Her skin was completely smooth. 

Clean, too, which was weird, because when Katie looked down, her flight suit was covered in blood. Like, enough blood that she looked like she belonged on a slasher movie set.

Now that she was feeling around herself, Katie couldn’t find any sign of injury on her person. No slashed throat, no bruised sides, no throbbing head—everything was fine. 

Relief washed over Katie, and her body went pliant as the adrenaline slowly ebbed out of her system. Unfortunately, the euphoria of life only lasted for five ticks before the mood turned sour. 

There was a distinct clink of a comms-link channel being opened, and Zarkon’s voice drifted overhead as he commanded, “Secure the Green Lion in my personal cargo hold.”

Katie straightened up and swiveled her head towards him. A viewing window lined the back-wall of Haggar’s chambers, and through them Katie saw her lion—posed as if it were about to tear through Central Command.

It was sedentary, now, though, and did not struggle against the tractor beam that slowly engulfed it.

In that moment, Katie realized what had happened. 

It was like when Keith had gotten his ass kicked during his Mamora trials, and Red tried to tear through the Blade of Mamora’s homebase. She only stopped once Keith was safe, shielding her paladin the same way Green and Black had shielded her and Shiro from the blast zone of Haggar’s first robeast.

That out-of-body experience wasn’t some death rite, but rather her looking through the eyes of her lion. Green had been coming to rescue her, right before Zarkon had spared her at the very last tick. 

Katie was shaking. 

She had left Green behind, because as desperate as she was, she knew better than to risk giving Zarkon a lion. Really, she’s already done that by getting captured. Her team lost the Black lion trying to rescue her, which carried several troubling implications for Shiro that Katie would have to process later (Her head was already at capacity for horrifying realizations). That stung—but in the deep-guilt-and-shame kind way of way. 

Having the life slowly drained out of her to try to lure Green from halfway across the universe stung more in an existential-dread way.

What would’ve happened if Green hadn’t come for her? Would she be dead right now? Would that be better?

“You-- you tricked me.” Those weren’t the right words, but they’re the only ones that took form.

“Not you, little paladin.” Zarkon rumbled with a tone that nearly bordered onto content. “Your lion.”

As the Green lion was pulled away from view, Zarkon approached her slowly. He pulled her bayard from his side, and Katie almost yelled at him to give it back. She only got a half-hearted, “Hey,” before her words failed her again. It was such a silly request in light of everything else—the murder, the kidnapping, the torture—but she wanted it back. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so vulnerable.

But she couldn’t even get out a simple, “Hey, give that back,” and was left scrambling away from Zarkon on all fours. He was probably going to do some other fucked up thing—like flay her with her own bayard. 

This time, Zarkon didn’t reach for her, and after her back hit the wall, Katie realized why. 

She looked up with wet eyes, and he looked down with dead eyes. There was a moment where they just stared at each other like that, making Katie wonder whether he was trying to psych her out or still coming up with an evil plan.

She cringed away when Zarkon leaned down—not sure what kind of brutality he was about to unleash on her. Instead, he took her manacles by the center-piece, and slowly raised her arms up.

Katie looked up at him, blinking, as he slotted her right hand into the bayard. To her surprise, Zarkon was practically crouching by this point, and while being this close to her almost-murderer was terrifying, Katie found herself more perplexed by his gentleness. He hadn’t grabbed or even squeezed her hand; rather, he gingerly clutched her fingers around the bayard’s grip, then kept his hand clasped over hers—more or less engulfing it.

With a burst of light, the bayard took the shape of Katie’s katar, but when Zarkon clenched his hand (Once more, with an unprecedented gentleness), it reshaped into... A khopesh? Zarkon clenched his hand again. Her bayard took the shape of a rifle and then a half-sword/half-whip looking nightmare.

Zarkon pulled his hand away from hers, and stared at the bayard as it morphed back to its katar-form. “It appears you are quite malleable.”

There was a voice in the back of Katie’s head, telling her to stab and taze Zarkon as long as she had her bayard. Her head was about to burst open with all the questions she had, though.

How did he do that? Could anyone do that, or just other paladins? Or, maybe just former paladins? Katie had a dozen other questions, but the only one that made it out of her mouth was a gasping, “How..?”

Zarkon did not answer her. He plucked the bayard out of her hand, and stood to full height. 

“I will give you tonight to cry all your tears and sow all your regrets.” He motioned for a sentry to come over (She only just now noticed that three of them had been stationed along the interior wall), before looking down on her again. This time without indifference or hate, but rather a glint of.. interest? Katie was having to read more into his tone than his facial expressions, since his new armor get-up covered up his face. “Tomorrow, your paladin training begins.” 

The sentry had her up on her feet and out the doors before she could even respond. It shoved her through more halls and past more Galra, and Katie walked in-line without any struggle as her mind scrambled to make sense of everything.

There was still the whole mystery of Zarkon wanting her to bond him to the Black lion. He hadn’t really specified what he meant by that, but given his claiming her as his paladin (Which was its whole other thing), it probably had something to do with rebuilding team Voltron from the ground up. 

Was the rest of the team in danger? Was the rest of the team even okay? She had disappointed them—Matt, especially—then baited them here just to lose the Black lion. Zarkon had mentioned “disposing” of Shiro, but she’s not sure if that meant killed. 

Maybe it was just hope or denial; however, by this point, the Galra have a long history of trying to capture Shiro. 

Did that mean he was also here? She’d have to escape herself, because while she’s sure the team would attempt a second rescue mission (That fact still sparked a mix of guilt and relief in her gut), their chances of success were just getting thinner and thinner. If Shiro was also here, then she’d have to find a way to escape with him and both the Green and Black lions.

Her ruminative stupor fell apart when the Sentry stopped her in front of a set of double-doors. Not that it was at the forefront of her mind, but Katie made a mental note that they looked exceptionally nice for a brig. The Sentry slipped off her cuffs, then shoved her into her cell. 

Only, once she was inside, it looked less like a cell and more like a hotel suite. The walls were clean, and most notably, there was a particularly plush-looking bed shoved in the far-corner. The doors closed with a quiet woosh behind her, and Katie felt her shoulders slump. 

This is the moment where she should cry. She’s been crying almost every step of the way here—to this general predicament—but she was finally in a space with some guaranteed privacy. Now was the time to hurt and grieve without any jeering or prying.

She’s spent on tears, though. Her eyes ran dry, even as all the anger, shame, and horror hung over her head. She still felt all those things in her heart, but they were less raw and more processed, now. Katie was finally letting the logical side of her brain take the floor. 

While she had bartered with her dad’s life, Ezor was the one that had pulled the trigger. She’d make Ezor pay for that—in time.

While she had gotten captured, Zarkon was the one this whole paladin-training scheme. She’d get away from him—in time. 

While her world had turned upside down, she was slowly making sense of everything. She’d get her bearings—in time.

It was all a matter of time.

Katie was so exhausted that not even the worst part of her brain could cast doubt on those glimmers of hope. Everything was a matter of eventuality, so she flopped onto the bed with a sigh—at least somewhat grateful for the soft mattress. She’d rather be in the castle, or home, but a bed was better than a cell floor. 

She shifted until she was staring up at the ceiling, squinting as she tried to bend reality to her imagination, and let her wake up in the castle with everyone—especially her dad. 

When sleep finally took over, Katie was imagining one of his warm hugs in place of her blanket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this took a while to get out. My original plan was to post on the tenth of every month, since I'm desperate for a fun writing project, but then the last two weeks happened. :') Either way, I'll be posting another, much longer chapter relatively soon. We're finally getting to the meat of my favorite, niche-y subgenre: Katie interacting with Galra.


	5. things are strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of Katie's new life.

Katie woke up on her own.

It was nice, until her memory caught up with her. She shot up in bed, and with a glance up, left, right, and down, confirmed her worst fears: this was her new reality.

Stuck in a prison suite, getting trained as Zarkon’s paladin.

Katie deflated, feeling the weight of, well, everything again.

She considered going back to bed, where the void of sleep would let her forget. But the logical side of her brain kicked her in the hindbrain, and reminded her: In time. In time, she was gonna get out of here, and in time, she was gonna get back at everyone, too. Assuming, of course, she actually used that time.

Groaning, Katie peeled herself off the surprisingly comfortable bed and stood up. First, she needed to analyze her surroundings. The room was small. It reminded her of those capsule hotels in Japan, but scaled to Galra-size. Which meant it was significantly roomy for her.

There were two doors. The main one, that the sentry had pushed her through, which didn’t seem to respond to her. She even felt around it, hoping to find an access panel, but that was a no-go. The side door on the right interior wall did respond to her; all she had to do was place a hand on it and the door slid open. Katie peeked her head inside and found a bathroom. 

She should’ve expected that (What else would it be, her own rec-room ?), but considering the amount of buckets she’s seen shoved into the corner of Galran cells, it was kinda surprising she got a bathroom. Especially one with a sink and shower, instead of just some dingy toilet. While everything looked familiar, Katie had no idea how to work any of it.

She used the toilet, and flushing took her longer than she’d like to admit. The sink, thankfully, was easier to figure out, since it worked by sensor instead of push (Seriously, what self-respecting inter-galactic empire would still use push toilets?).

The shower, or at least what she thought was the shower, stumped her. There was a drain in the middle of the floor, and some water spouts embedded into the ceiling over it.

Katie waved a hand under the water spouts and quickly pulled it back. Nothing happened. She tried setting a foot around the drain, instead, and that seemed to do the trick. Her ears picked up the sound of water rushing through pipes; before she could pull back her foot, it was doused in water and soap. Then, some panels opened along the ceiling, and revealed a set of vents.

Katie felt a glimmer of hope, thinking she found a ventilation system to crawl through. The vents started blasting hot air, though, taking Katie by surprise and nearly sending her tumbling. 

The vents weren’t so strong Katie was floored, but they were strong enough that it made Katie wonder if she could actually use them. Not to mention she had no way of reaching them, even after climbing onto the slither of countertop space lining the sink.

Those were the only vents she’s seen so far, but she’d have to double-check and-- All of the sudden, her stomach growled loud enough to interrupt her train of thought.

She had been hungry since yesterday. And.. the day before that? Katie had no idea how long it’s been since she first took Lotor. Her empty stomach was starting to cramp, though, and Katie found herself wishing her prison suite came with a mini bar.

Maybe, instead of money, it would cost her lashings. Her stomach told her it was worth it, but of course, there was nothing in her room but her bed.

Katie marched up to the main door and banged at it.

“Hey!” She shouted, hoping her voice would carry across the metal paneling. “If you want me to be your paladin, then you can’t starve me!”

It made her empty stomach turn, calling herself their paladin. She just wanted to remind them that, if they were going to keep her, then they‘d have to feed her, too.

A handful of tics passed and no one answered. Katie kicked at the door out of frustration. But, instead of door paneling, her foot connected with the shin of a sentry. Which turned out to be a lot thicker than the doors, if her throbbing toes were anything to go by. 

Katie hissed in pain as the door slid all the way open, revealing a sentry with a bundle of clothes. It stared down at her, and Katie stared right back. 

“Uh. I need to eat.”

“Sustenance will be provided after wardrobe change.”

With that, the sentry dropped the bundle of clothes into her arms, and closed the door before Katie could get in a word edgewise.

She made an offended noise, and kicked at the door again—this time actually getting it. Katie didn’t really have anything else to say, but she still had to express her indignation somehow. 

She huffed at the door for good measure, before looking at the clothes. Just from first glance, she could still they were mostly black and green.

Katie walked over to her bed, and dumped everything on it. From the pile, she pulled out.. a flight suit? It was a flight suit, but when she looked closer at its lining, she didn’t see a flight suit. She saw a slave uniform—the same she’s seen one countless prisoners in. 

Katie dropped the slave slave flight suit as she retched on nothing. The thought of dressing as Zarkon’s slave made her physically sick. Hoping to delay the worse, she focused on the other clothes.

Up next were a pair of boots that were actually kinda cute. She was never much of a fashionista, but even she could appreciate a good pair of combat boots. Considering her current lack of shoes, Katie actually kinda appreciated them. It also helped that they weren’t part of a slave uniform. 

Unless.. Zarkon designed this as her slave uniform?

Katie pushed that thought out of her head. Right now, she just needed to get dressed, so she could actually get some food in her stomach.

The last piece of clothing was a dress-shirt thingy. A long shirt? Katie couldn’t remember if there was a “proper” name for them. But it furled out towards the end—like a dress. The sleeves were long, and everything was black except the collar, arm holes, and hem. Those were all the same shade of green. 

This wasn’t so bad. In a way, it was kinda like her old sweater—if you squinted a lot. But she turned it around, and felt her gut drop. 

On the back of the long shirt was the Galra emblem.

Katie gulped, suddenly realizing the reason for the new outfit. It was a way to signify her as Zarkon’s paladin. She thought she was just going to get a new flight suit, since her current one was all cut up and bled on—not a public statement outfit. 

The room started to spin. 

Did wearing this mean she surrendered? Or was Zarkon just trying to send her a message? What else would Zarkon do to make his point? Brand her?

Someone knocked at the door, and that was enough to pull Katie out of her spiral.

“Sustenance has arrived. Is wardrobe change complete?”

“Uh..” Katie stared down at the clothes. Her stomach growled more fervently than before, demanding her to eat and to forget about these mind-games. She picked the slave flight suit off the floor, mentally preparing herself to wear it.

That is, until she noticed it was almost the same shade of black as her paladin flight suit.

She looked down, and noticed most of the cuts and blood stains were more around the neck and chest area—where the long shirt would cover them up.

With a sly grin, Katie slipped on the long shirt and the boots, then shoved the slave flight suit under the bed.It was a small form of rebellion, but it meant everything to her. It meant she wasn’t completely stuck in Zarkon’s little getup. 

“I changed!” She called out, and the sentry opened the door again. It came in with an automated sound, and handed her a lukewarm tray of alien foods.

“You have 5 dobashes to consume sustenance before you are needed in the throne room.” Katie raised a brow but sentry just pivoted around and marched out the door. 

The throne room?

Settling on her bed, she eyed her meal. Katie expected slob, but it was actual food. She couldn’t name any of it, and to her human sensibilities, it all seemed off-colored. With the urging of her stomach, though, Katie picked apart a piece of a biscuit-looking food, and popped it into her mouth. 

The rest of her meal was gone in a matter of ticks, and her empty tray was cast aside just as quickly. 

The food wasn’t amazing, like Hunk’s cooking, but it was good enough; although, it had to be pretty high-class for a prisoner. Like her cell and uniform. Her sentry guard, too. It had actually knocked at her door, instead of, well, trying to bust her head in. 

She’s seen sentries do all kinds of awful stuff to prisoners.

Katie wondered why she was getting special treatment, even though the answer was obvious: Zarkon claimed her as his paladin.

Still, it seemed out of character for him to spoil her like this. This was the man whose command bred soldiers like Sendak and Haxus—the most heartless and cruel beings she ever knew. They were the type to give their enemies no quarter, unless they felt like torturing someone.

This time, without any knocking, the main door slid open again. “You are needed in the throne room.” 

Maybe it was just the lack of knocking, but Katie felt like the sentry was exasperated—like she had set it behind schedule. Out of two-parts two-parts curiosity and one-part defiance, Katie asked, “Why?”

The sentry just marched over and clamped a new set of cuffs on her, using the attached lead to pull her up. 

Katie stumbled after the sentry, trying to meet its strides as it led her away. “Why?” She asked again, this time with a twinge of desperation.

This answer was also obvious: it was her first day of training, just like Zarkon had said.

But what did that training look like? And why was it starting in the throne room?

“Why!” She demanded this time.

All she got was another whirring, “You are needed in the throne room.”

Katie sighed as the sentry dragged her down a hall of identical doors. If it weren’t for the Galra paraphernalia everywhere, then she might’ve mistaken this place for a regular hotel.

She set her eyes ahead, focusing on their route. She needed to commit it to memory, for whenever she escaped. Expecting lots of lefts, rights, and even a corkscrew turn, Katie was underwhelmed when the Sentry just dragged her into an elevator. Pretty anticlimactic. And inconvenient. 

Could you even base an escape plan on an elevator?

The elevator shot up, and Katie slumped into the little space between the wall and sentry. There was a sense of foreboding in the air, but by this point, Katie was kinda numb to it. She could only scream and cry about her situation so much. Right now, she was just in an elevator—getting the lay of the land.

Of course, the universe never passed up a chance to make a Holt miserable.

The elevator stopped. Katie straightened up, expecting the sentry to trot her out, but it didn’t budge. The doors slid open to reveal the commander from yesterday, and Katie nestled further behind the sentry. 

Commander Flesh-ears was accompanied by the tuft-eared soldier that had led Lotor away, and they both entered the elevator with equally impassive looks.

The elevator shot up again, and an incredibly uncomfortable silence settled overhead.

Suddenly, Katie didn’t feel so numb anymore. It wasn’t fear or anger in her that ate at her, but a very visceral sense of embarrassment.

She hated that these two saw her in this outfit—that others would see her in this outfit.

It made her stand out against all the purples and grays, calling attention to the fact that she was a captured paladin. Sure, she was wearing her own flight suit, but what if someone like Ezor saw her like this? Or, oh geez, what if Ezor saw her like this? The mocking would be endless. Katie already knew Ezor would call her, “Pretty Kitten,” and mess with her hair.

“Lieutenant Prox?” Commander Flesh-ears droned, indifferent to Katie’s silent meltdown.

“Yes, Commander Ladnok?” Prox droned back, just as indifferent.

“Prepare your briefing. I want it ready to go by my cue.”

“Of course.” Prox pulled a tablet from his side, and started swiping through his files.

Katie felt her nerves settle a little, since they seemed too preoccupied to bother her. Then Ladnok ordered, “Sentry, relinquish the prisoner to me.”

Katie cowered. It was an instantaneous response—one which bypassed any sense of dignity or composure. She remembered how Ladnok miffed seemed when Acxa got guard duty over one of her men, and that bruised pride could only mean bad things for her. This lady seemed like the type to break bones instead of coming up with annoying pet names.

The sentry did not relinquish her, whirring once more, “The prisoner is needed in the throne room.”

Katie actually felt some gratitude towards the sentry. She knew it was following protocol, but she liked to think it was protecting her.

Ladnok sighed. “Override code: Kral-sa-lux 3162.”

At that, the sentry handed the lead over to Ladnok. Katie came along with it, digging her heels into the floor to stall the exchange.

“No, I don’t want to go with you!”

Ladnok yanked Katie up by the forearm, and tucked the girl under her massive arm—like a handbag.

Katie winced as the edges of Ladnok’s gauntlet and chest-plate dug into her sides. She kept wiggling around, though, hoping to free herself.

“Relax, little paladin,” Ladnok said with a kind of chuffed laughter, “we are both going to the throne room.”

“Then why are you carrying me? I can obviously walk.”

“You are so puny and pathetic that it is difficult not to pity you.” 

Katie glared at the floor, feeling heat rise to her face. She wanted to say something about how she’s sliced through battlecruisers in half. Or how she’s defeated Galran super weapons on her own. 

But any insult she came up with died on her tongue, since the comebacks were easy and plentiful.

Then how did she get captured? Why did she let her dad die? Did she mean to help Zarkon reclaim both the Black and Green lion in one day?

Katie just kept staring at the floor as her eyes turned watery.

Whether Ladnok noticed was anyone’s guess, as she continued rather casually, “Also, it’s always wise to keep an eye on creatures as cunning as yourself.”

Ladnok squeezed at the girl’s side, making her squeak, before she explained, “We knew we’d win with you being out of commission, and the Black Paladin being 

compromised, but the intel you fed those half-breeds made for a flawed battle plan. Your sniper took out most of our fighter drones. But he was quick to retreat like the others.”

This is the part where Katie should feel proud of herself. Ezor and Zethrid thought they had broken her, and made her sell-out the team. Instead, she tricked them into wasting resources, and probably ruined their reputations, too. That’d teach them for calling her, “Kitten,” and, “Orphan paladin.”

But she was stuck on what Ladnok said about Shiro being compromised. Her mind raced with the possibilities, thinking of every cartoon-esque possibility from brainwashing to clones. “What.. do you mean compromised?”

Ladnok chuffed again. “Ah, you have more pressing matters to worry about, paladin!” 

The elevator came to a stop, and Ladnok walked her out. Katie started to struggle again, but only really managed to twist herself into an even more uncomfortable angle.

“Tell me!” She grunted angrily, as she tried to get in a kick. Her foot didn’t connect with anything.

Ladnok didn’t respond, and her lieutenant offered just as few words—still swiping through his tablet.

Katie made sure to glare hate-daggers at him, too, before settling into Ladnok’s hold. 

She wanted to ask what had happened with Shiro—if he was safe, if he was okay. But she didn’t even try fishing for information, because that was just giving them ammo. They’d probably make up an elaborate lie or leverage the truth over her. 

She thought back to when Zarkon had said he disposed of Shiro. He actually said he’d dispose of her like Shiro, but he was never really planning on killing her in the first place. 

“ _Not if Green didn’t come for you_ ,” the worst part of her brain reminded her, but Katie shoved that thought aside. This wasn’t the time for existential horror. 

Shiro was way too valuable for the Galra to just kill off. He was the champion. He was the head of Voltron. He was the leader of the coalition. That just had to be Zarkon’s dramatic way of saying he had also captured Shiro. But, then how was Shiro compromised? It couldn’t be his arm—the Galra would’ve used it forever ago. So, what was it? What made Shiro compromised? 

Nothing made sense. It made her head throb and her heart sink. Her guts were harboring all kinds of fears and doubts, until a little voice chimed in the back of her head, “Patience yields focus.” 

That’s what Shiro would say if he were here. And it went right along with her whole “in time” plan. Katie felt some comfort in knowing she was thinking like Shiro; although, that little spark flickered for a moment, once they stopped in front of a grand set of doors.

“I will warn you, paladin,” Ladnok drawled overhead, tone low and serious, “to disrespect the Emperor in his own throne room is punishable by death. Do not think his wanting to keep you alive will negate the possibility of punishment; the witch can think of far worse fates. Or maybe,” her voice suddenly picked up an octave, “he’ll allow one of his trusted commanders to handle your discipline. Many of us would like to avenge lost victories and comrades alike.”

Katie had a line about wanting to know who these trusted commanders were, seeing how Zarkon had to turn to fugitives like Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid for the hostage exchange. Ladnok was holding her in such a way that snapping her rips in half would be easy, though, so Katie kept her mouth shut. It sucked having to filter herself so much, but at least she knew that line would’ve cut deep. Maybe she could save it for later. 

A creaking sound started from somewhere deep inside the inner-walls as the double-doors slowly slid open. Katie wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but this wasn’t it. 

Display windows lined the walls from floor to ceiling. You could see the whole of Central Command, and more impressively, millions upon billions of stars. Comets flew by hundreds of light-years away, and nebulas stretched onwards to infinity like intergalactic rainbows. 

Matt would love to stargaze in here; she would love to stargaze with Matt in here. 

Ladnok walked her in, and Katie strained her neck to keep looking at the stars. It was almost like she was out of this awful place; that is, until Ladnok dropped her. 

Apparently, the Galra loved nothing more than carrying her around, then dropping her like a bag of bricks. 

Ladnok and Prox walked right past her, as she groaned away her new set of bruises. Once she finally stood up, she found a dozen eyes boring down on her. 

There was Zarkon, who sat at his throne. To his right stood two commanders—one angry lady with horns for hair and the other a meathead looking guy. To his left stood two more commanders—one some goth looking lady and the other Ladnok with Prox stashed behind her. 

They all glared at her, and while it was menacing, it was even more confusing. She looked between them all, trying to figure out what they expected from her. Was she missing something?

She was about to ask exactly that, when Zarkon drawled, “What are your thoughts, Commander Gnov?”

“She is young. It will be easy to train her according to your needs; however, considering how rapidly humans age, I would advise intervening early,” the angry lady with horns for hair said.

Oh, so they dragged her down just to judge her? 

Katie knew the Galra were cruel, evil, and heartless, but this seemed a little too mean girl for them. 

“Hmmph.” Apparently, the meathead looking commander had something to say.

“Commander Ranvieg?” Zarkon asked.

Ranvieg sneered as he looked Katie up and down. “I have culled slaves for looking less malnourished. I cannot see any use for her outside a public execution to demoralize the rebel’s coalition.” 

“The question isn’t about her worth, Commander Ranvieg,” Gnov cut in. “Our emperor has a higher purpose for the child, and we are to discern her potential.” 

Katie looked between either commander. There was a lot of tensity in that one exchange, and she could already tell that these two hated each other. Gnov seemed to be all strategy and Ranvieg seemed to be all bloodlust, and she filed that observation away for future use (Maybe she could make up for all of her mistakes with dossiers on the enemy).

“Commander Gnov is correct,” Zarkon confirmed. “I expect the soldier expanding the borders of my empire to recognize the potential of even more unassuming specimens.”

Ranvieg grumbled to himself as he looked Katie up and down again, this time with enough loathing to make her recoil. “Then I must agree with Commander Gnov. Her youth makes her pliant; however, she will require heavy modification to mean anything on the battlefield.” 

“The druids should have fun with her,” the goth looking lady joked. 

Katie expected Zarkon to snap at that, but instead he just said, “Noted, Commander Trugg. And your thoughts, Commander Ladnok?”

“From what I’ve gathered,” Ladnok started off like she had rehearsed, “she is every bit as pathetic as the council has described her as; however, I have taken the liberty of having my lieutenant compile more specific notes from both past reports and my brief encounters with her.” 

Katie didn’t catch the way all the commanders glared at Ladnok, because she was gawking herself.

They had already developed a dossier on her?!

“Hm.” Zarkon hummed with just a hint of interest. “Lieutenant Prox may proceed.”

Prox stepped forward with his tablet in hand. He cleared his throat, before going headlong into his monologue. 

“The Green Paladin appears to specialize in both computer and robotic sciences, specifically in the hacking, reverse-engineering and hybridization of any software. She has potential in espionage due to these abilities as well as her overall underwhelming physique. Security footage shows her to be agile and adaptable, but recent developments show her to also be frail and lethargic. According to my data, should she undergo extensive training and minor modification to compensate for these failings, then her technical skills make her a valuable soldier.” 

Katie could feel her eyes blow out to the size of dinner plates. Is this what it felt like someone just rattled off a bunch of personal facts about you? 

No, this was different. She made dossiers just in case; these people made dossiers just because.

They were all coming together to figure out the best way to mold her into Zarkon’s little puppet paladin, demeaning her as they set up a horrible future of pain and torment for her. She wished she could fight everyone in here, as a manic energy coursed through her arms. Of course, she’d lose that fight—even if she had her armor and bayard. She had to get at them a different way.

“I killed Sendak. Haxus, too.” The words leapt out of her mouth.

She knew she needed to be unassuming. The less they expected from her the better; otherwise, escaping would just get more and more impossible. Katie found herself lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, though, as everyone went quiet. Their eyes still bored into her, but from a place of awe rather than judgement. That manic energy in her arms started to subside. 

Maybe she was just trying to rationalize her stupid choice, but the word leverage came to mind. 

“When you first sent Sendak after us, we took back the Red lion and shot him out of the sky.” She slowly scanned the length of her audience as she spoke. “Then, when you sent him after us again, he managed to either separate or capture everyone—except me. I threw Haxus down the engine well, and then I trapped Sendak in a stasis pod so we could jettison him into deep space.”

She spoke confidently for someone lying through their teeth. Katie had no tenet against lying (Especially to her enemies), but it helped that her story was full of half-truths.

While she hadn’t thrown Haxus down the engine well, Katie did reprogram Rover to be her friend—making his sacrifice a byproduct of her actions. Similarly to how she hadn’t trapped Sendak, so much as stalled his plans enough for the team to regroup and trap him together. 

The only true lie was that they intentionally jettisoned Sendak into deep space, but really, it was a good thing Shiro got rid of that creep. 

As everyone soaked in her story, some of the commanders looked shocked, others worried, and while some stuck to their indifferent facades, there was a still particular air of tensity hanging over everyone’s head.

Katie felt a smug grin pull at the corners of her mouth, and that was proof enough that this was more about striking a nerve than getting leverage. 

Zarkon was the only one who seemed unbothered by the prospect of a little girl defeating his right hand man, as he asked rather nonchalantly, “Is that so?” 

Katie just glared in response. 

“Lieutenant Prox,” Zarkon called, “test my paladin’s mettle.”

Katie blinked. “Wait, what?”

Prox tucked his tablet away, and unsheathed a plasma dagger from his side. With no preamble, he charged past Ladnok and right at Katie. 

Katie side-stepped his first stab, then ducked from his second. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to win a knife-fight in cuffs, and her mind was firing off a hundred synapses a tick to figure an out. 

Prox gave up the stabbing, and managed to get her right in the gut with a sweeping kick. 

Katie went down with a grunt, and Prox sheathed his dagger before approaching her. He stared down at her impassively, as he pulled back his fist for the wallop of the century. 

Katie instinctively threw her arms up to protect her face, and to her surprise, managed to catch Prox’s blow with her lead. 

Her cuffs were interlocked by a plasma lead, which either pulled her wrists together or gave her about nine inches (Roughly twenty three centimeters, the scientist in her chimed in) of length to work with.

Katie only realized this now, but she took advantage of it within the same breath—wrapping the lead around Prox’s wrist. As he pulled back his fist, he pulled her along with him.

Vertigo turned her stomach inside out, because Prox wasn’t just hoisting her up, but also throwing her over his shoulder. The momentum going straight to her head let Katie know she was due for a sore back, so she took advantage of this split-tick opportunity to kick Prox in the face. 

Flailing her legs, Katie felt her left foot connect with something hard and her right foot connect with something squishy. There was a distinct _clank_ and _ack_ right before she went down with a _thud_ and _ugh._

Prox pivoted around to glare down on her with his one good eye, since his other one already looked like it was swelling. 

Lead still tangled around Prox’s wrist, Katie couldn’t do much else besides brace herself as he raised his other hand to maim her. 

“Enough.” Zarkon ordered. 

Prox looked to Zarkon then he glared at Katie, shaking the lead off his wrist before he slinked back to Ladnok’s side. 

Katie picked herself slowly, trying to swallow back her panting as Zarko glared her down. She didn’t want to seem too winded after such a short fight. 

“I assumed it was only through the Green lion’s grace that you survived this long; however, it appears you are as conniving as my traitor spawn. Your unassuming nature allowed you to slay Sendak and his lieutenant; however, if you wish to survive in my empire, then you will need to be more than conniving and unassuming.” 

The obvious response there was that Katie didn’t even want to be a part of his empire. She caught the part about survival, though, and knew Zarkon was threatening her. As vague as it was, she kept her mouth shut. 

“Commander Ladnok,” Zarkon continued, “For your foresight in analyzing the paladin, I will ask you to oversee her training.” 

“At once, sire.”

“After I am done with her.”

“Of course, sire.”

“Council dismissed.”

Everyone milled out in a sort of procession that made Katie wonder if they had all rehearsed this. Ladnok and Prox were the only ones to mingle, stopping to talk to her specifically. Ladnok looked smug as could be, sneering down on Katie as she warned, “Remember this, paladin: as amusing as your little antics may be, I will not tolerate your nonsense.” 

Prox said nothing, but given his hard-set scowl and ever-swelling eye, Katie imagined he was also threatening her.

Once they left, Zarkon stood from his throne. “Come, paladin.”

Katie raised a brow. She expected him to either call a sentry to drag her around, or just drag her around himself. That’s all anyone’s done here—toss her around like a ragdoll. Zarkon narrowed his eyes, and Katie almost stumbled over herself to walk up the steps of his throne. She felt embarrassment take a hard seat in her gut, being called over like a dog. She’s only been here a day! This was the time to be a sharp-toothed pain in the butt—not a broken-down husk of herself. She should’ve said something like, “No, I don’t feel like it,” or, “Why don’t you make me?” 

Katie wouldn’t, though, because she still remembered praying to a god she didn’t believe in. Zarkon had beaten her so brutally, and so thoroughly, that she wished for an afterlife. 

While Katie was sure Zarkon wanted to keep her alive, she wasn’t sure Zarkon wouldn’t slash her throat again—not as long as he had Haggar to magic her back into working condition a split-tick before death. 

So she listened to him without any lip—if only to keep the phantom hands inching along her throat at bay. 

Zarkon walked past his throne, and set a hand on the wall behind it. With a hydraulic hiss, a hidden set of doors slowly opened up. Katie was impressed by how well it had been hidden, and wondered about the mechanics of it. Zarkon was already through the doors, though, and Katie rushed through them herself before she could delay him any further. 

Inside, she found yet another elevator. The room was too small to be anything else, and Katie felt a lurch of motion as it shot down. 

Needless to say, an elevator trip with Zarkon was tense. There was a moment where, compelled by awkward silence alone, she considered asking him about the weather. 

But that was stupid because:

1.) They were in space, there was no weather. 

2.) This was Zarkon, why would he care? In fact, why would she care? She didn’t want to small-talk with her captor. 

Katie guessed it was one of those things that were just hardwired into you—even at the worst of times. 

Another couple awkward ticks passed with the lethargy of a snail, then the elevator door finally opened up. Zarkon stepped out, and Katie followed after him. Again, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wasn’t it.

It was a massive hanger—at least ten times bigger than his throne room. It only contained the Green and Black lions, who both had their shields up. 

Katie felt the tug of her heartstrings at the sight of Green. There was a gentle nudge somewhere in the back of her head, something which Katie has grown to recognize as Green. 

If you wanted to put labels on it, then Green communicated with her through a psychic bond, but this was one of the few times Katie was willing to accept things as is, since Green felt more like an extension of herself than a separate entity. 

Katie could feel Green’s worry for her, as well as her own hatred for Zarkon. Green felt just as wronged as she did. 

She didn’t realize she had stopped to look at Green, until Zarkon pulled her along by her forearm. 

“You are not here to commiserate with your lion; you are here to restore my bond with the Black lion.” 

Katie wanted to reiterate, once again, that she was the Green paladin—as in, bonded to the Green lion. She had no link to the Black lion outside forming Voltron, but that took four other paladins and a whole lot of training. She couldn’t even touch the Black lion—much less bond it to Zarkon.

She knew Zarkon would just slam her into some walls and choke her out while he lectured her about the lions again, though. 

He didn’t let go of her arm until they were standing in front of the Black lion. 

Katie looked between the Black lion and Zarkon, then focused just on Black when Zarkon narrowed his eyes. 

She’s not sure what to do, so she just took a breath, and set a hand on the Black lion’s shields. Closing her eyes, she tried talking to the Black lion the same way she did Green. 

>Hey.. Black? Uh, sorry. It feels like you should get your own title, being head of Voltron and all. 

>Or maybe a nickname, like Kitty Rose. 

>But that’s not why I’m here. 

>Look, I know I’m not your paladin, and we’re both going through a lot, right now, but could you give me.. Idunno, something? 

>I can get us all out of here. I just need to not get murdered. 

>So, just for now, could you give me something to work with? 

Katie let that final thought hang for a little bit, and poured all of her hope and desperation into it. She wasn’t sure what she wanted Black to do, but when seven whole ticks passed and nothing happened, she gulped. 

Katie was going to have to tell Zarkon that she had no idea what she was doing. Maybe she could spin it something about needing proper equipment? No, because then he’d just pull some “true paladin” crap again. 

She could feel dread building up somewhere in her head, slowly taking over all of her thoughts. Zarkon was practically breathing down her neck, expecting some kind of results. If she didn’t say anything, then he’d probably think she‘s just stalling, and punish her. 

As dread slowly consumed her mind, her lip started to quiver. Katie already felt phantom hands around her throat. That is, until she felt a rumble in her chest, as another one shook the room. 

Her eyes flew open just as both Green and Black’s eyes lit up. 

They were talking, Katie realized. 

The rumbling tapered off quickly, and Black’s shields slowly faded away soon after. 

Katie felt tears prick at the corner of eyes—not from grief, anger, or fear, but gratitude. She felt guilty asking this much out of Black, but she knew she could get them all out of here if she could just go five dobashes without getting beaten into a pulp. 

She looked between either lion, as she poured all the appreciation she could into her thoughts. 

>Thank you. 

Green nudged at the back of her mind again, filling her head with all sorts of warm thoughts.

It made her smile, then Zarkon pushed past her. It was less of an aggressive shove, and more of a distracted run-in. He approached Black slowly, staring up at her in awe. When he settled a hand on her paw, he did so with the same uncanny gentleness from when he had clasped his hand over Katie’s own. 

“My lion.” 

Katie felt awkward, like she was watching something she shouldn’t—something private and intimate. She actually averted her eyes, as she wondered if Black regretted lowering her shields. 

Zarkon stared at Black long enough that Katie was pretty sure he forgot about her. 

She thought about clearing her throat to remind him of her existence, before she realized this was a chance to look around. She tip-toed over to Green, who kept her shields up. Katie didn't want to board her yet, since it was too risky right now. 

Unless..?

A patch-work of a plan ballooned in Katie’s head. She could hop in Green, then smash her way out of this hangar. Zarkon would be too busy getting sucked into the vacuum of space to stop her from grabbing Black. That’d be difficult, what with Black being so much bigger than Green. Also, while Zarkon would be busy, the rest of Central Command would be more than ready to shoot her down. Also, also, she still didn’t know where Shiro was. 

“Paladin!” Zarkon barked, completely derailing her train of thought. 

Katie yelped and stepped away from Green, already shrinking in on herself as Zarkon clanked towards her. He leaned down and grabbed her by the chin, pinching it in a way that made her realize just how fragile her jawbone was. 

“I told you that you are not here to commiserate with your lion.”

“I-I know!” Katie fumbled over her words. “I was just looking around!” 

Zarkon glared at her, and Katie closed her eyes tight. He was probably going to maim her face, since he already had his claws set in her face muscles. Instead, he let go of her, and raised to his full height. “Do not assume your privileges. You must earn those through your training.”

Wait, really? She had to earn the privilege of just looking around? 

Indignation flared in her heart, and Katie glowered at Zarkon in spite of all her fear. He neither noticed nor cared, as he simply called out to the room, “Sentry; production line beta.”

Katie’s ears picked up a wooshing sound, and she turned to find a door slide open along the nearest wall. A sentry marched out of it, and whirred its way to Zarkon’s side. 

“Take her to Commander Ladnok,” he ordered. 

The sentry took her by the lead just like the first one did. It started to drag her away, and Katie cried over her shoulder, “Wait, what do you mean by training? What’s going to happen to me?”

She was basically being shipped off to Ladnok for an unknown period of time, for not completely understood reasons. Sure, it was probably going to be a bunch of combat training (Zarkon's council made it abundantly clear that she needed it), but what about all that “intervening” and “modification” talk? Katie needed to know what awaited her.

Zarkon did not answer her. By the time the sentry had shoved her back into the elevator, she saw Zarkon was at Black’s side again.

Katie at least got one last look at Green before the doors closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started plotting this, I had lots of little ideas—like Haggar resenting Katie for endangering her son (All while trying to figure out her past as Honerva), Lotor treating Katie like a sort of step-sibling, or the team dealing with their own losses. I haven't completely given up on these ideas (Except for anything to do with the team's perspective, because that'd mean rewatching VLD for characterization, and I can't trudge through that nonsense again), but I'm definitely not going as in-depth with them as I first intended. 
> 
> Really, this is more like a loose story to throw Katie into the Empire than a complete narrative (Although there's one arc that I'm very excited to develop >:3c). So, if there's some story elements you want to dig more into? Doodle it up! Drabble it up! Talk it up! Plotting this kinda stuff is a lot of fun. 
> 
> Otherwise, I already got a good chunk of the next chapter in my drafts.


End file.
